And All
by all.out.carby
Summary: Epilogue up. PLEASE read and review! :)
1. Chapter 1

It's weird.  
  
  
  
Up until now I've always been known as Abby-who-doesn't-know-what-she-wants, or Abby-who-doesn't-know-what-she-needs. That's the way people really knew me. I was the one girl who put up those walls and her fists, and I didn't allow a single person into my life.  
  
  
  
I didn't want a hero. I didn't want someone with the power to fly, or someone to ride in on that white horse. Or the fairy tale man, who picks me up and takes me toward a light. That's now what I wanted. I refused to admit the fact, however, that I really didn't know what I wanted.  
  
  
  
If they could hear me now. I would say, 'There! I said it!' And it's true. Okay? I admit it. I'm not perfect. I'm human. One messed up little girl. Little? I'm nearly thirty-five. I have a job. I'm a divorcee, a recovering alcoholic.  
  
  
  
Recovering. Ha. Face it, I tell myself. You're an *alcoholic.* And, no, its not fair. Why it happened to me? I don't know. I still wonder what I did wrong. I want to hate God for putting it all into me.  
  
  
  
I could tell my Creator that I took care of my brother and mother at age ten. And I still do, practically. It wasn't my fault that I lost a husband, or a baby.   
  
  
  
And I realize again the severity of the mistake I made years ago. I killed a child. Firmly and completely killed a child. To save my own ass from having to raise someone with an abnormality. Ugh, that sounds terrible. I would have to raise another someone with a problem. There was no other way to put it, I guess. He or she would have a problem. Most likely.   
  
  
  
A bipolar baby. Those two terms could never fit. An infant, such a precious infant in my arms that would grow up to be a victim, and transforming myself into a victim as well, of that diabolically schemed plague. That same one that had taken my mother, my brother, and myself by force. The one that made my father's face a blank one. The disease that had driven me from having a normal life like everyone else.   
  
  
  
Everyone else.  
  
  
  
As conceited as it sounds, it's true. So many people have it better than I ever will. And it's the cruelest thing I've ever known. I can't watch a mother, a father, and a baby alone in park because it hurts. I'll never have that because of fear. And the strangest thing is, I don't know what that fear is.  
  
  
  
Fear of myself, or something? Fear of what could happen? Fear of what I know will?  
  
  
  
Life is confusing, and I've learned not to complain so much aloud. I've had my moments where any ordinary woman would cry her eyes out. But, no, not I. I keep everything inside until I need to burst. That's when *I* cry.  
  
  
  
And I hide it. Because I don't want anyone to know that big, strong Abby cries. But I know what they're all thinking. They think I'm blind. Everyone looks at me like I'm troubled. Because I am. I'm a twisted mind in a twisted body. I have no purpose but to screw up. That's why I'm here. On this planet.   
  
  
  
Barely anyone has any sense of how that feels. Prayers have never proved very effective, so I've been led to believe that God doesn't want to play any part in a grown woman's sadness. And why should he? I don't blame him. Prayers are for children whose grandparents are in the hospital. Not for a woman who wants her mom to take medicine. Or to help her figure herself out. That's not his job.  
  
  
  
It's mine.  
  
  
  
I have too many jobs. I'm a nurse, I'm a girlfriend, I'm a daughter, I'm a sister. And so much more. Little Abby Lockhart. So many troubles. Poor, poor girl.  
  
  
  
I think, deep down, maybe I want someone to look at me and see that I'm so sick. That I do need help. I want someone to pity me. I need someone to help me.   
  
  
  
But, the saddest of all things. I don't let anyone help me. I refuse help. I refuse anyone to think that Abby can't do it all by herself. I shrug it off and ask, 'why?' when in reality I'm already calling, 'come back.'  
  
  
  
So now I'm here alone. Technically, I'm not alone. But, come on. I am completely alone. I'm stuck in this hopeless soul, in this hopeless world without a feeling to follow at all. The rain has finally fallen, you know it has. Every cloud's taken its toll and I'm all that's left. Misery has had the last laugh. And its certainly enjoyed having that laugh.   
  
  
  
People might think I'm suicidal or something. Suicidal Abby. Maybe that's why I don't talk about what I feel. And that's a good thing. I don't need help. At least not like that.  
  
  
  
I don't know why I think I'm so strong. I am strong. I am a strong person. But I have faults. Otherwise, I would have never turned to alcohol. Strong people can resist a lone drink. But, me? For some reason they call me. And I answer them.  
  
  
  
My hand reaches to them. One dumbass move. There's no reason to do it. Why drink? What's so great about it? It's a drink, I tell myself. A liquid. A beverage. Get a friggin' Pepsi if you're thirsty. Or a bottle of water. Coffee, for all I care. But do I listen?  
  
  
  
Hell no. Why would I? Its beer, my longtime friend. My longtime enemy, but the only thing I've ever cried to. Or cried in front of. There's a story. Story of my life. Tears and beer, and an empty apartment.  
  
  
  
God, I'm a mess.  
  
  
  
I can stare into the mirror each night and see the same withered person. And still, she manages to wither away. Just leaving me before my very eyes. The seasons are finally changing and I can't see where I'm heading. That winding path in front of me is leading me nowhere. It's an awful feeling, to know that wherever you're going now, you're not going to survive it.  
  
  
  
But, maybe life is better than I think. For brief seconds each day, the thought runs through my head. Maybe life is better than I always draw it out to be. I still have my job that I adore, and my wonderful boyfriend. He cares about me, he kisses me, he makes love to me. He sleeps at my side with an arm draped around me. And he doesn't ask about the turmoil wrapped around my quiet, but screaming inside, soul. He never asks. He makes me forget.  
  
  
  
But in ways that are wrong. I think.  
  
  
  
But he's cleared so much up that it's appropriate to thank him. Maybe. I think.  
  
  
  
I glance over to him. He's coming toward me. I wake up, my raw daydream fixed in my mind forever. It hits me as he takes my hand and we begin out the doors, after I punch out.  
  
  
  
I need a hero. I need someone to help me. Someone, in the tiniest bit, to save me. I need that man. I need that human being that knows me better than anyone else does. And I know who that person is. It dawns on me that I've known all along. It centers there, in the middle of the ER doors. I think I know what I can do for myself.  
  
  
  
But, someone else is holding my hand. And it can't be that way. I toss a loose, phony smile upward, his way and excuse myself for spacing out for a second. I shake my head. And I have to look back once more to see if he's still there. The other man.  
  
  
  
He waves at me from the desk. My hero. My silent hero, who doesn't know he can save me. He doesn't know he's my hero. He doesn't know what he can do for me without much, or what he's already done in some ways.  
  
  
  
I stop and look up at a different man. A much different man. Nothing near hero terms. I whisper for him to wait outside for me. I already feel dirty because I know what I'm about to do. But I can't help it. It's a want, a need. It's necessary. Really, it is.  
  
  
  
This rush that's flowing through my veins, washing through my head and my heart. I think I'm about to do something right. For once. Or at least something good for me. My first step toward recovery.  
  
  
  
He sets a questioning look on his face upon my arrival. I bite my lip and turn around to see if that other man is still there. He's not. He's already outside obediently following my orders. He wouldn't want to upset me. He's too kind to me in a way. That's why I'm about to feel very, very horrible.  
  
  
  
I whip back around to meet the other face meeting me. He's smiling mischievously.   
  
  
  
"What is it?" he asks with a warm smile. I love that smile. It reflects the way I feel about him, and the way I know he feels about me. I've known forever, and so has he. Why has everything become so wrong? Why did it turn out this way?  
  
  
  
Shut up, Abby, I tell myself. Stop whining and fix it. Because I do. I already told myself that I can do this, because I want it that bad.  
  
  
  
"Can you come here?"  
  
  
  
We walk to the lounge and close the door. He looks worried. He's too sweet.  
  
  
  
I tell him that I'm not strong. I tell him I have no walls, no fists. I need help, I say to him. His eyes watch my lips move, comprehending every word I say and taking it into consideration. I knew there was a reason I did this. Other men don't listen like he does. I come with too much baggage, too much carryon. Why does he seem to be the only person who doesn't mind? The only one who tolerates it?  
  
  
  
Why is it that he alone cares?  
  
  
  
I reach my final destination. I need him. He's my hero. He's the one person I want to be with and the one person that's helped me. He'll always help me, whether I'm with him or not. One look into his deep eyes, or one search into his kind heart and I'll be me again. Whether it's good or bad, I'll still be me.  
  
  
  
He's still watching me. I don't know what to do, so I freeze. The world is silent, the quiet chaos dying down outside the door.  
  
  
  
Luka's still outside, in the ambulance bay waiting for me. I want to voice this to him, but I don't want to talk. If he's going to look into my eyes the way he is right now, then I'm going to keep looking at him like it.  
  
  
  
I know exactly what he's thinking. Well, not totally. But I know him well enough to know something. He listened to me. He's thinking about what I said and he knows I know this. That's how well we are together. We understand and we grip it all. We grasp everything.  
  
  
  
He's standing. He's standing in front of me. My eyes fall to the floor. At once, I want them to be on his face, afraid I may miss something. A look or an expression I'll want to remember later. The tile is filthy, I notice. But that's not what I care about.  
  
  
  
His hand touches my face. It burns, but believe me, in the greatest way. I look up instantly. I don't want to tear my eyes from his now. I can't. If I did, I'd leave him forever. And I'm definitely not up for doing that.  
  
  
  
Why can't I just tell him how I feel, really? Tell him everything?  
  
  
  
No worries. He knows. He's known forever. And I know that now, because he's closed his eyes and took a step closer. He draws my face nearer to his. I know what's going to happen. The inevitable. The predestined, almost. And the worst part is that Luka's still outside waiting.  
  
  
  
But I can't let it get in my way. I'll never love Luka. Not because he's cruel, but because he's Luka. Because he doesn't know me. At all. We don't have the magical relationship we should have after almost seven months of dating.  
  
  
  
And I'm suddenly aware of his face an inch away from mine. Not because I see him, because my eyes are closed. But because I can feel him breathing. Its the most beautiful sound and feeling. Him against me. I wish I could stay this way forever.  
  
  
  
His lips are so close. I pray to God that he won't stop. That he keeps going.   
  
  
  
Yeah, I really did pray.  
  
  
  
I slide a hand around to the back of his neck. I catch myself by surprise and tense up at the feeling. He, pacifying my rapidly beating heart, places his firm arms around my waist, keeping me there and keeping me standing. With this, I bring another hand to the back of his neck.  
  
  
  
"Please," I whisper, begging him to stop this taunting ritual. I pray again. I need for this man to make contact with me. I'd be on my knees for it. I crave it. I can't live without it, I can't. "Make it go away." I don't care how ridiculous I sound. All I can process is his face so near mine, and the fact that I can barely breathe. I want him to kiss me. I want him to make love to me and tell me that I matter. That I'm just Abby. I need him.  
  
  
  
"I need you," I say, even quieter than the last, echoing my thoughts.  
  
  
  
He's face arches a bit and his lips meet mine.   
  
  
  
Finally.  
  
  
  
I don't sit motionlessly. Not at all. My lips dance on his happily, reaching that one wish I'd walked toward for so long. All I can feel is him against me, and his body pressed against mine. Our faces, our lips are moving in a steady rhythm that I can't ignore. Its the most beautiful thing. Ourselves so close, our bodies meshed together. Why is this so easy?  
  
  
  
He pulls back, and I want to whimper at this loss. But I know he had to. He knows I'm with Luka. He knows I feel guilty enough as it is in the first place. He's looking at me sympathetically.  
  
  
  
One thumb caresses my cheek and I lean towards it. I ask him, "Be with me."  
  
  
  
"Being with me won't solve any problems, Abby."  
  
  
  
"Yes it will," I whisper again, eyes sealed and a cheek depending on his hand's gentle touch. "It will fix everything."  
  
  
  
He bends down slightly and kisses me again. "You're with Luka," he says against my lips.  
  
  
  
"I don't want to be," I say, my voice small.  
  
  
  
"Then do something about it," he says. The words aren't rude. They're insisting and kind, cool and calm. I look up at him, from being so close. We only stare one another for a second and I know what I have to do.  
  
  
  
I nod. I know what I have to do.  
  
  
  
"I can do something then."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
--more to come, if you like  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
--  
  
  
  
I don't know what that was. Just had a feeling to write something. And, gee, when's the last time I went for angst? (wink, wink)  
  
Someone asked me to introduce myself again. Here goes: I'm Amanda, I'm 14. People call me Mandy. I'm a Carby, I'm a lobster, a D/C shipper. I watch ER, Friends, and Scrubs. I write, I do whatever I can do to keep me intrigued.  
  
Happy?  
  
mandy 


	2. Chapter 2

I can't sleep.  
  
  
Its not fair. To me or Carter. I want to be with him so badly that it hurts. Physically, emotionally and any other way possible... I'm sure there are others. The pain is real. Not anything that is possible to dismiss, but an actual ache. In my side, in my head and in my heart.  
  
  
I know, I know. Heartache isn't really a true thing. Just a myth. Especially for Abigail Lockhart. That's what I thought, too. But this man who was touching me, and kissing me only six and a half hours ago is causing that real pain. Not because he did something to me, but because he *did something to me.* He did something real to me. He did everything that every girl wants done to them.  
  
  
Don't ask me what it is he did, exactly. All I know is that this man is so wonderfully brilliant that I can't understand it. He knows everything. Everything about me. I don't need someone perfect, I need Carter. No one's perfect; there's too many different opinions about the word. But John Carter is certainly something I need in my life. Perfect? I don't know.  
  
  
But he's perfect for me. And my twisted being is perfect for him. We're two best friends. We both know we've secretly fallen in love with the flirtatious banter we've played. I know I have. How is it that I smile? I smile so much when I'm with him. Luka can make me laugh. But Carter is real. The man is good to me in ways that are unspeakable.  
  
  
Luka is good to me, in some ways. But he's not good *for* me.  
  
  
People accuse me of being selfish, but is this selfish? I have the right to choose who I want to be with, whether I end up with them or not, don't I?   
  
  
All of these inquiries and disputes that torment me at night catch up with me again this night. I wrap my arms around my body and shiver. Not because its cold, though. My feelings aren't straight, they're complex. And no one knows it but me.   
  
  
Me.  
  
  
God, who am I? People are right. Little Abby Lockhart doesn't know who she is. What do I want? I know what I want. I want someone. I want Carter to be in my arms. I want to lie next to him, and I want to wake up next to him. I know that he'll solve everything. It sounds like a teenage classic, straight from sophomore years. But this man will fix everything. That's the way he is with me. He's the one who helps me.  
  
  
I wonder if he's realized it, how much he's helped me. I don't think he has. I remember back to where I was hours ago, him with his hands on me. Touching me. I enjoyed it like no one should; I enjoyed it too much. He's so incredible to me without knowing it. He's everything without realizing.   
  
  
Does he recognize just how he makes me feel? I told him, but I didn't tell him enough. I want to tell him everything and more. I need to tell him how he starts my day and ends it. He's the one I think about so often, the one that I want to tell my secrets to. I need to let him know how I feel about him.  
  
  
Life's never that simple. I, of all people, should know that.  
  
  
I remember growing up. I remember how it wasn't the same as it was supposed to be. My mother, my invisible father, and my helpless brother.  
  
  
I almost shudder. I don't care about that right now. I won't let myself. Torture of such can be wasted away some other night. Some other night when I'm not mentally crying as it is.   
  
  
I'm not crying right now. I won't allow it. But I'm crying inside. These blank walls are torn down by its own contender: me. All I want is to know what its like to be truly happy. I've had my moments where I can laugh, but there are some things that I have to have.  
  
  
I wonder how conceited or selfish I sound. And feel. I don't care. Its not wrong for me to want somebody. I can want someone, and I do want this someone. If anything, its good for me. I should want to break from this barrier and climb into Carter's arms. At least, tonight I know what I want in some aspects.  
  
  
Why do I feel so certain that he'd make my troubles wash away? That's the effect. The effect he has on me. No one else has ever had that power.  
  
  
When I married Richard, I married him because I was young, carefree, and we were in love. Supposedly. Love is told to fade away. That's what divorces are for. And affairs or something, I guess. That's what I thought happened to Richard and I.  
  
  
But I had never felt like I could be this happy if Richard was by my side. If Richard kissed me. At times, I wanted to get away from Richard. I don't know why it worked that way. I considered it a break or something. But I genuinely didn't want to be near him.  
  
  
That was the descent into hell from there.  
  
  
We made no effort to fix it, now that I think about it. It was obvious. We both knew it was coming. No questioning something destined to happen.  
  
  
It doesn't matter now. If it was indeed destined to happen, that it was destined to happen. And that means that something else was meant to happen.  
  
  
Now I'm just digging myself into a deeper whole of crap. I know myself better than that. I'm trying to imply that I'm supposed to be with Carter. Sly, Abby. Real sly.  
  
  
But, in some ways, its not sneaky, sly, or stupid. In some ways, I still feel I'm to be with him one day. Whether its tomorrow, or in ten years, I feel like I'll always feel the same way about him.  
  
  
God, why am I so lost? Its astonishing in parts. I don't understand how a thirty-five year-old woman is so confused. Still. I'm sick of having that reputation. Why don't I know any better? I'm my own person, my own adult. Things like this shouldn't be a problem anymore. Easing into comfort should be an easy responsibility. If it should even *be* a responsibility. I wish I could tuck myself into bed at night and fall asleep.  
  
  
But, being me, I stare at the ceiling. I dare not cry to the odd strength of a pillow. I don't cry, I won't do it. Instead, I remain locked in my own chambers. In my own dungeon. And I'm still lost without a word to set me free. And, as figured, only another person can set me free. And that person is the person I'm not allowed to be with, for whatever reason.  
  
  
And I feel I have to be with him. He does hold the key, as stupid as it may sound.   
  
  
I squint and see a spider dancing on the ceiling above me. I'm scared all at once. Not scared, but a little more aware. I wonder if the insect could lower itself onto my body in this cold bed.  
  
  
And suddenly I'm not afraid. Of the spider, I mean. I never was afraid. I finally realize I'm afraid in general. Why? I don't know.  
  
  
I'm stuck and I want to get out. So badly. I'm sick and tired of being here. In this mess, caught between two pillars and waiting for an absolution to find me. How it will ever make its way through a blinded, narrow and dark path is beyond me. I know, whatever path it was, I wouldn't light it up any at all.  
  
  
I reflect back to my thoughts of Carter. This wonderful man. I can see it in his eyes; he wants me to be happy. I know he does. He speaks to me with a smile, and he tries to help me. I'm stubborn; I tell him I don't need any help. He sees past that. He knows I need help. When I tell him that I don't need him to do things for me, he does them anyway because he cares that much.  
  
  
I guess, if Luka has a fault, that's his. He doesn't recognize that he's hurting me by his 'giving me space.'   
  
  
Its not his job, or anyone else's to take care of me, though. And I know that. But these two men know I can't sort things out alone sometimes. Why is it that one man takes a step further, and one man sits originally?  
  
  
Luka could be any other typical person. I don't know how Carter makes a difference. I know how he does, but how does he manage? Why does he put up with me? I'm nothing special, I'm nothing but a woman. A messed up one at that. There's nothing about me that should attract a man. All I do is flirt contagiously. Like I have something to offer.  
  
  
Why, if he does, does Carter want to be with me? I find myself doubting now. I don't know why I need to be with this man. How many times have I repeated myself tonight? I'm fed up with having to deal with myself.   
  
  
I wish I'd known him from the beginning. I wish I knew him when he was like me. When he was confused. But, then if he had ever been in this state, how did he overcome it? How did he succeed in breaking a wall that I had so long cried behind? Why was it that some people were walking, and I was still falling?  
  
  
That spider is gone. I don't care about it anymore.  
  
  
Falling. That's what you are, Abby. A miserable falling soul who is tied up in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by questions you'll never answer and plagued by arachnophobia.  
  
  
If I could laugh at myself, I would. I really would. I tell myself that one day I'll laugh, and that makes healing easier. If its healing.  
  
  
God.  
  
  
This thought drive me insane. I'm not healing. I hurt. I am in as much heartache as a sane person is driven to in a lifetime. I'm not trying to upstage anything, but I've gone through so much. Why does it happen to me still?  
  
  
Believe me: I know some people have it much worse. But I shouldn't have to. All I want is right in front of me. In fact, its been right in front of me for three years. Why can't it be as simple as it seems? Can't we just reach for each other, and take the other?  
  
  
I want Carter.  
  
  
Its only that simple. I need him by my side, I want him to hold. I want him to hold me and kiss me and touch me. Again. When he had done it to me, still hours ago, I was in Heaven. I want this man to do that to me for much longer. And I don't want to feel guilty. I want him to caress every inch of skin on my body and I want to enjoy it. I know I will.  
  
  
I know what I want. And I've repeated it to myself for about the eighth time tonight. I need that man that kissed me. Straight from a fairytale. I need him.  
  
  
But when I look up tonight in this bed, at the sleeping face above me, I realize I'm not with that man. I'm with Luka Kovac. And he's not what I want. Not at all. This still kind, in some ways, man is not what want.  
  
  
I want John Carter. My best friend. I want to be choosy tonight. I want this man to be holding me. Not Luka.  
  
  
Carter wants me to do something about it, he told me. What can I do? I want to be with him now, but I'm sure climbing from a window and sneaking to his apartment is right anyway. Not that I would do that. I feel guilty enough for kissing him. But it still fit so perfectly.  
  
  
So I do the only thing I can think of at the moment. I look down and untangle my heavy body from Luka's warm arms. In his sleep, he groans and turns the other way. I stare at him for a while, not knowing what to make of this, or to do next even, and decide on turning away as well.  
  
  
There's a new power within me, though. As soon as I leave his arms, I feel I can do anything. Or something close to it. If I couldn't wake him up and break up with him, I'd do the only other thing I could think of.   
  
  
I scramble from the bed. I gather my clothes and my bag. Leaving him a note:  
  
  
  
Luka -   
  
I felt sick this morning. I went home. I'll see you at work.  
  
  
  
Abby  
  
  
  
I don't care what people think. Knowing everyone else, they'll think that I'm running away. I'm not running away. I'm taking my first step toward what I want. This is good for me.  
  
  
I'm almost sure this time.  
  
  
And as I make my way home, all I can think of is Carter. It doesn't surprise me. Its not anything out of the ordinary. Its something I've grown used to. If only he knew how much I felt for him.  
  
  
He does, I think.  
  
  
This heartache.  
  
  
  
--  
  
  
  
Thanks for the encouragement with this one. I'm trying really hard with this one. I hope it shows in some way.  
  
  
-manda 


	3. Chapter 3

Aimless.  
  
  
The story of my life. Why has every relationship ended with a pointing finger at me? Richard thought so at least. It was all my fault because I was so confused. I was traveling that road quite aimlessly, evidently.  
  
  
Relationships just aren't my thing, I guess. Sad thing is, everyone's gotta be in one sooner or later. And I want to be in one. Nobody wants to be in one with me, though. Wrong. Luka Kovac and John Carter. They don't mind me that much, do they?  
  
  
God, I remember three years ago when I first saw the two of them. As I had said, I was looking for change. I was recently a divorcee and putting myself through med school. I was sober. I was good. I could start over. No more of anything in my way. I was new to life, kind of. Fresh start, as they say.  
  
  
So I asked Dr. Kovac out. Why not? The basic European heartthrob. He's handsome. To sound like a teen: he's hot. I'm not going to lie about it, or ignore it. He's damn good looking. He's gorgeous. He's tall, dark... everything a woman wants, but never finds.  
  
  
Well, if I find it, I'm going to do my best to go out and get it. Who's stopping me?  
  
  
I think I met Carter on my first day. It was a little chaotic down there, so all I really saw of him was a short acquaintance. Once again, I won't lie. He's handsome as well. But in a different way. He's cute, he's adorable. He's got that boyish charm and that loving, and darling little smile that makes you weak. And his eyes were deep. And brown. Something I love.  
  
  
And he was nice. So sweet, as a matter of fact. Was there any attraction there? We'd only just met. I knew who he was, I knew he was a fantastic doctor. He knew I was a med student. Other than that, we barely saw each other. It's a big department, you know.  
  
  
So, basically it came down to cute, adorable grins versus deep, dark European muscles. Or something like it. My fresh start, I guess, included everything European.  
  
  
Now that I look back at it, I wonder why I went for Luka. I didn't really know either of them, but I found Carter much more attractive in a reality sense.   
  
  
But that's not the way it went. I ended up here with Luka. Another funny thing: our relationship didn't even start out so strongly. It barely ever kicked off. I think I asked him out and after that we just stayed together. We stayed together just because and we slept together and talked and all of that. That was our relationship.  
  
  
And we're still here.  
  
  
I wonder if I was looking for a new start, why I ended up like this. I didn't want this dead-end deal. Its another Richard. Something I really don't want. But I find myself not able to break away. Because he's safe.   
  
  
Because he's safe.  
  
  
That was my old excuse.  
  
  
Well, its more complex. Or maybe just lengthy. At first, yes, I was attracted to Luka. That's why I asked him out, and that's why I stayed with him. Obviously, I later developed that feeling for Carter. It was after I helped him. It was evident that I was flirtatious with this man, and that he was equally teasing with me. That banter. I *loved* that banter.  
  
  
So, after a while, I knew that I wanted to be with him. I just didn't realize it... or something.  
  
  
But when I came around and found out what feelings I was dealing with, I knew that this was more than a young crush. I was kind of serious about him. So I stayed with Luka for that very reason. I knew that if we ever got involved, judging on my record, we wouldn't work. I knew that it probably wouldn't be so fling-ish if we got together, too, so I didn't want him to lose as a friend. It was too good the way it was.  
  
  
So how stupid was I? Very.   
  
  
Honestly, I want to be with him. I'm still scared that it won't work if we do happen to get together. I feel I have to try sooner or later though. Its unfinished business in my former life. Oh, believe me. That's not how I feel. I feel like... well, it hurts. I need to be with him.  
  
  
God, my thoughts are drifting back to the moment in the lounge. Do you know how long I felt things like that? How long I've felt like I was important? Luka can be a saint sometimes, he really can. But Carter fits. His hands fit in mine, his arms encircle my waist in the perfect manner. And, oh, his lips fit me so well.  
  
  
I hate myself for what I did. I "cheated" on Luka. As if it were a game. I "cheated."  
  
  
My life is a game. One big game. And, boy am I losing.  
  
  
Hmm. I wonder. If my life were a movie, would it be a tearjerker? Or... what else could it be. I can think of any other types of film. Kung fu. Yeah, that helps. Romance. Romance? Romance.   
  
  
Yeah, in the twisted romantic way. With who? I'd be cheap in that movie.  
  
  
I don't want to think about this anymore. I hate thinking of things like this. Why do I analyze so much?  
  
  
Why do I care so much?  
  
  
Why don't I care?  
  
  
Why do I act so much?  
  
  
Why can't I just figure things out? No one deserves this. No one deserves any of it. Its sickening, its not fair, and its unreal.  
  
  
I wish... I wonder when life got so complicated. Life is meant to be complicated. I already know that. But, since when is the whole so complex? I mean, my life is a dancing hell, wicked to an extreme and of the same profanity. I don't understand why my world revolves differently. Why are people genuinely cursed in the first place anyway?  
  
  
I don't mind, I guess. If something already is happening to me, there's not much I can do to change it, now is there? I'm not giving up. I know that I can't change these things, but I can make myself happier. And I know how to do that. And I know how to get that. So I don't know why I'm complaining *still.*  
  
  
If I weren't with Luka, things would be a hell of a lot easier. I know I'm the only person who's making me upset here. All I have to do is break things off. No one's forcing me to stay in this relationship. I keep telling myself, I keep telling myself that.  
  
  
Why am I so troubled? I want to live in a world where I discuss insane political campaign commercials. You know, the ones that host the stupid arguments. The ones that attack something completely irrelevant, hoping desperately for a vote from people. *Those* crazy commercials.  
  
  
That's what I want. Those are the kind of conversations I want to live through. I'll take the boring lifestyle. Go ahead and give it to me, please. I will gladly take the offer. Don't you see my hand waving in the air?  
  
  
My feet are cold.   
  
  
Oh, Abby. Shut up and stop complaining.  
  
  
Life could be worse, I tell myself. It could. In the stupid way, I couldn't have a friend like Carter. Come on, I say. Cliché, but true. I still need this man.  
  
  
In a way, more than ever.  
  
  
But I've said that a lot now.  
  
  
If I'm so fixed on it, I must wonder again why I'm so lazy about fetching that dream of mine. I'm seriously going to do something about it. Soon. I can't live this life, or this lie anymore. Not only is it unfair to me, because I'm standing still, but because I'm keeping this man in my lie. Two men, but mostly Luka.   
  
  
We've had our moments where we're awful together. Aside the rest of the time. At times, I couldn't believe what a jerk he was to me. Oh, lets be solid: what a bastard he was to me. And I'm sure there were times when I was a bitch. But he still cares about me. I'm sure.  
  
  
But we don't care enough about the other.  
  
  
Which is kind of sad. I wish I cared about him more, but I don't want to. Its more like I wish I was nicer to him. I don't want to be with him. It doesn't matter. I need Carter...  
  
  
I've only just exited Luka's apartment. Too make this story any more typical, you'd have to give me something to fight. Something simple and oddly symbolic. A chilled Chicago night with that brisk wind hitting my chin.  
  
  
Give me that, and my night is disappointingly complete.  
  
  
I still pull my attire around me though. Tightly. I want to hide from the rest of the world. I feel like every eye is staring straight into my body, invading every thought, detesting every feeling and removing every sense left.   
  
  
Yes, that's the truth.  
  
  
I don't know why I think everyone's my enemy. They aren't. Some people are my friends, and some people want to be with me. At least one person does. And I'm crazy about him. But I'm the only obstacle in our way.  
  
  
Doesn't it just sound stupid, though? Two people want something that badly and half the equation is shutting out the rest.  
  
  
She's still unsure about herself.  
  
  
Fool.  
  
  
Isn't she, though?  
  
  
I need help.  
  
  
I need him.  
  
  
Ask me why. I changed my mind. Go ahead and ask me.   
  
  
You asked, you get an answer.  
  
  
We're perfect for each other. Am I the only one that sees that? I hope not. I'm sure he notices. He kissed me. And he kissed me like I mattered more than anything. Like he cared that much. Like he had to have me then and there. And I had to have him. So it works.  
  
  
Its a steady puzzle.  
  
  
If I had my decision, my way of life, I'd be married to him by now with three healthy kids. Two girls, one boy. I'd be in a big apartment somewhere in Chicago, living off of our County salaries. Yeah, I still love being a nurse. That is still who I am.  
  
  
I'm Nurse Abby Lockhart. My stethoscope and scrubs do the duties.  
  
  
And Carter. My Doctor Carter with his stethoscope and scrubs. See? We're a perfect match. I told you.   
  
  
Luka wears a tie. 


	4. Chapter 4

I thought I was going home.  
  
  
No, Abby. You're still not sure, evidently. I'm wandering up the same avenue, looking for a trace of anything that will help this feeling. Particularly, alcohol would be nice. Alcohol. The toxin to my blood. Perfect for a night like this with feelings to match.  
  
  
When I left Luka's apartment, I was half-awake. Partially conscious and barely sane. I had literally just walked out of the apartment. Not even considering what Luka would think. A damn note wouldn't make any difference.   
  
  
As dumbly blank as I felt, I knew that what I *wanted* to do was wrong. I wanted to fall against Carter's body and drift away. I had never known this raw feeling before. All other times, I possibly wanted sex rather than anything else. Tonight, it didn't matter. I just want arms around me, and someone to tell me that I am worth it. I need Carter. Bad.  
  
  
That's why I'm such a bad person. I don't know what to do. I hate looking down at my feet, one foot after the other. If someone could do this for me... if.  
  
  
My life is a chaotic hell. Every flame leaps about my very being in a taunting, lifeless manner. I hate them all. And I can't feel myself standing here. I could barely be aware of myself if I were crying. Sometimes it hurts that badly. Sometimes it stings that badly.  
  
  
And sometimes I want to die. That seems to gather every thought in my mind back to existence. Really, who would miss me? Luka? Well, it doesn't matter. I wouldn't feel guilty because I wouldn't be alive. I think Carter would miss me. And my mother might go insane if I left her. But she wouldn't be my problem anymore. She'd be someone else's. No more constant fears would torment my mind. I'd be free. And dead.  
  
  
All I want to do now is get off of this street. I wish my home was in front of me, but its not. Its a million blocks the other way now. Its too late to turn around. Unfortunately, and decidedly coincidentally something else is standing in my way. A bar. Just what I need.  
  
  
I want to reach ten meters in front of me and open the door. Step into the dim room, smoke hovering around me, and ask someone for a drink. They don't know me in there, so they can't refuse me. They don't know that I shouldn't drink, that I cannot drink.  
  
  
Why am I so vulnerable, and so weak?  
  
  
I remind myself that I'm neither. Look at how strong I am.  
  
  
Pssht. Strong? Nothing of the sort. My two selves will fight forever. Its not even fair, really.  
  
  
I'm not going to a bar. I can't. I owe it to myself. If I go to Carter's apartment, will he let me in? If I walk up to his door, how will he really act? No one has any idea how badly I want to get into him, his feelings and his heart. His soul. I want him to make love to me. Not have sex with me, but to make love to me. I don't care what anyone says. Tonight, I don't want to feel guilty. I want to enjoy myself and love myself. I want to feel good tonight.  
  
  
Most likely, Carter will not do these things to me. He knows that its wrong. But I want him to.  
  
  
And, I think he will let me inside. Why would he turn me away? At least he'll take me home.   
  
  
I feel rotten because suddenly I know that I want to make love to him. Why is it all about sex now?  
  
  
My phone rings. I stop in my tracks and scramble in my shoulder bag. I pick up the device and hold it to my ear. Sleepily, I answer: "Hello?"  
  
  
"Abby?"  
  
  
"Luka." Damn it. Stop invading my thoughts.   
  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
  
"I didn't feel good," I announce slowly. "I left you a note."  
  
  
"Where are you?" he asks again. "I called your apartment and you didn't pick up."  
  
  
I sigh and put a hand to my sweating face. "Um, I unplugged it. I felt terrible."  
  
  
"Oh," he whispers. "Well, I'm sorry for waking you up."  
  
  
"Oh," I perk up lazily. "I was awake. Getting a drink. Don't worry about it."  
  
  
There's quiet between us.  
  
  
"I have to leave."  
  
  
"What?" I ask. Someone on the street bumps into me and mumbles a "move."  
  
  
"I'll be in Minnesota for two weeks."  
  
  
I groan. "What for?"  
  
  
"Meeting up with some friends."  
  
  
"For two weeks?"  
  
  
"Its a big deal," he speaks. "I haven't seen them for a while, and - "  
  
  
"Well," I ask, "when are you leaving?"  
  
  
"I was going to leave tomorrow," he says slightly louder. "But since you aren't here, I thought I'd leave tonight. But if you're sick, I want to be with you."  
  
  
"No," I say at once. I surprise myself. How awful must I sound? "I'm fine. I'll probably be in work tomorrow. Just a little nausea. That's all."  
  
  
Another sigh. This is why I don't like Luka. Sometimes he just doesn't care, and sometimes he doesn't talk. In relationships, I am supposed to connect with someone else. Its not working that way. There's my reason. I'll break up with him one day.  
  
  
Soon, I hope.  
  
  
I remember Carter's distant words. Is he still waiting for me? Well, what would have changed his mind in a matter of hours.  
  
  
Its a good thing I'm not in that bar.  
  
  
"Then, would you mind if I left tonight?"  
  
  
" 'Course not, have fun," I say. I pray that I don't sound as stubborn as I feel I would. "See you in two weeks."  
  
  
"Are you mad?"  
  
  
"I'm sick Luka," I fight. "I'm sorry if I don't sound like myself."  
  
  
More silence. Good God.  
  
  
"Alright," he mumbles. "Bye."  
  
  
The phone clicks almost immediately. I can't believe my luck. I think. Selfish me, I feel intrigued. I feel like I can go to Carter now and we can do whatever we want to. See how selfish? Extremely.  
  
  
I don't care. Like I said, whatever happens tonight is for me. And if it so happens with Carter, than its for the both of us. I feel like tonight I could use some of that. I could use it anytime.  
  
  
It hits me that hard. I want him more than anything right now. More than alcohol, more than Luka, more than anything. Anything. At all.  
  
  
I pick up my pace. I'm in front of his building in no time. Each foot steps in front of the other again. I can see straighter, and I can feel what's going on in my mind. I think that's happiness. I'm not completely dull and depressed. I've been happy before. Its just been a long time before I've been somewhat excited. I don't know if 'excited' is the right word.  
  
  
I don't hesitate to knock on the door. I want inside. Very much. If he's not home, I'll lie in his bed.   
  
  
He opens in a minute. I don't knock loudly, so he shouldn't have answered in the first place. How did he hear me? I wonder.  
  
  
"Abby," he says in surprise.  
  
  
"Hi."  
  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
  
I stare at him and shake my head, no. He puts out his hand. My heart drops as I take it and he leads me inside. I sigh with pleasure as I follow him in, and he sits me down on the couch. I put down my bag and stare up at him.  
  
  
He asks me why I'm there. I expected him to ask me this. I tell him that I need him again. He sits down and looks at me. I don't know who is supposed to talk now. Me? Is it my turn?   
  
  
I tell him Luka's not here. He asks why, and I tell him of our conversation over the phone. I explain to him that Luka won't be there for another two weeks. He sits again while I tell him that I want to be with him. He says again that I have to do something about our situation if I want to be with him. He tells me, "I've already told you that."  
  
  
I shake my head violently, my gasping breath catching in my throat. I tell him I want him now. That I want to be with him right now. I cannot wait another two weeks. It strikes me that I haven't even asked Luka where I can reach him. I tell this, too, to Carter.  
  
  
"Do you want to be with me, really?" Carter asks. "Do you know what you want?"  
  
  
I nod vigorously. "I want to be with you," I say, my hand finding his way to the surface of his chest. He sees how broken I am. I keep my hand there. I don't want him to stop talking to me. I don't want him to shut me out.  
  
  
"I'll leave Luka," I whisper, my voice raspy. "When he gets back. Right away, I'll tell him. Just be with me, please Carter."  
  
  
"Abby - "  
  
  
"No, Carter, please," I say. My voice is dead in plead. I need this man and he knows it.  
  
  
He looks deeply at me. I want this to happen. I'm one hundred percent sure. A hundred and one, if that abides by my rules. He's not even blinking. I wonder what he's thinking. Why won't he just swoop in and kiss me?  
  
  
I ask him. I'm stupid, I'm very stupid for asking him, but I do. "Can you kiss me?"  
  
  
He just stares at me and nods. "I want to, too."  
  
  
I nod nervously, my eyebrows pressing down. He initiates it, because I could never. He leans in and I close my eyes when our lips meet. The heat rises, I swear it does. I can feel every fiber in my body melt away and every hair stand on end. My hands climb about his body, caressing him without thinking. His hands rest on my thighs and I want to fall away to him. I want to surrender my body to him and let him win.  
  
  
He leans onto me, pushing me down onto the couch. I don't hold back. Instead, I invite this man to do this to me. I enjoy this, I know I do. His lips are pressed against mine in the gentlest manner. But its not tender anymore.   
  
  
We're aggressive, taking each other with action. His hands are moving about my body. They're behind me. Moving up my back. God, they're on my skin. They're crawling up my back. How does he do that? How does he do this?   
  
  
I slip my hands under his clothes. I won't let him do it, and I'm not allowed to. I want to take this somewhere else.  
  
  
Its awful, I know. But I can resist him tonight. I'm messed up, I know, but I need him.  
  
  
I pull off his shirt and await his reaction. He leaves it alone, shrugging off the shirt quickly. He slowly makes his way back to me. He reaches for bottom of my shirt and I know that for once, something's going to happen to me.  
  
  
I'm not sure what I feel while my clothes begin to come off. But in the moments that follow, I'm okay.  
  
  
I really am. 


	5. Chapter 5

How do I explain it?  
  
  
Lying in his arms, I feel worthy. Worthy of every blissful, heavenly feeling I've experienced in the last few hours. This is a shelter for me. It's my safe hold, or something. Every time he touched me, it felt wonderful. I haven't felt like this for so long.  
  
  
I don't feel cheap when I'm with Luka. He doesn't treat me that way. But I don't like being with him. This is so different. Makes me feel alive.  
  
  
Alive indeed.  
  
  
But, when he made love to me last night, I could have died. And it wouldn't have mattered. Because it was the sweetest thing. It wasn't rushed, either. It was perfect. His hands were always on me, from the time we kissed to the end, when we fell asleep together.   
  
  
Wherever he took me, I went. I followed him. I wouldn't have it be any other way. I gave myself up to him last night. Not as in sex, but as in control, I guess. I've never done that. If I have, it would have meant I was giving up.  
  
  
Carter saved me last night from torture I would have put myself through.  
  
  
But I still feel guilty. Don't get me wrong. I can't be that big of a bitch, can I? I'm not a whore, okay? I don't sleep with another man and feel fine with it. I know that this is what I needed. I needed this man, yeah. How many times have I said it? But, it gives me no right to do it anyway. I know that it would only take a few words to Luka to make it okay. For example, "I think we should see other people." Or, more blunt, which I would never use, "I'm in love with Carter."  
  
  
Ha. I would *never* use that with Luka.  
  
  
He stirs next to me. I'm so glad that he's waking up. In a way, it's disappointing because I was enjoying watching him sleep. But now he'll talk to me. And he'll hold me, and kiss me, and make me feel the same way I did last night.  
  
  
In the midst of all guilt, I felt like a person. A real person. And a feeling I've never felt before...  
  
  
"Morning."  
  
  
I sigh, closing my eyes. My naked body is pressed against his. His hand strokes my back, as the other rests on my thigh. My hands are lying innocently still on his bare chest. My face is close to his neck now, resting slightly under his chin. His lips are softly touching my forehead.  
  
  
I *never* want this moment to end.  
  
  
"Morning," I mirror, my voice locked in that tone. That happy tone. How often does a genuinely happy Abby Lockhart make a visit?  
  
  
His lips press against my warm skin again. His lips are cool, kind, inviting... Perfect. I breathe out against his neck, hoping he'll just keep kissing me. Truly, I believe this man can kiss problems away. He makes me forget the bad stuff for a while. Some say that's a bad thing. For me, its everything I need right now.  
  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
  
And he knows what I'm going to say. He stops his kissing, but his lips are still positioned in the same spot. I wonder what he'll do next, when I tell him how I feel. And why.  
  
  
"I feel two things," I murmur against him. "I feel bad, and I feel wonderful."  
  
  
He nods, and kisses my forehead again. "Tell me."  
  
  
I can't suppress feelings. There's no way.  
  
  
So I kiss his neck. Nothing huge. I lazily kiss him from an easy space. I don't even move my face. There's no need. My eyes are still closed, hoping to block every other thought out. As long as this man is lying next to me, I don't need my eyes. They're my second mind, bringing everything back.  
  
  
"I don't have affairs," I whisper. "I'm not that kind of person."  
  
  
Once again, he holds back on the kisses and listens. Stops and listens.  
  
  
"But," I say to his skin, even quieter than the last comment, "this feels so right."  
  
  
He nods. To my surprise. I think.  
  
  
"It does."  
  
  
I tilt my head slightly, letting it fall back onto the pillow. Barely. I look up at him, my eyes dragging and my frown clear. "You think so?"  
  
  
He leans forward and begins to kiss me again. God, I can't believe this. "Yeah," he answers, his lips lingering on my collarbone.  
  
  
I sigh in sheer pleasure. Make it go away, I pray. Make everything go away.  
  
  
"What am I supposed to do next?"  
  
  
He lets his face lay into my neck. "What do you think?"  
  
  
I bite my lip as he starts kissing and caressing my neck again. I don't want him to stop, ever. I can't feel half of my body. "I don't know." His lips are starting up my jaw. They're burning. "I want to be with you."  
  
  
Lips an inch away from mine. Tracing my skin. Making their way toward mine.  
  
  
I slide my head to the side slightly, because I can't wait any longer. I won't. I have to kiss this man. It's a hunger. So I do. And it feels amazing. He doesn't want to quit, and neither do I. We move together. It's our own dance. All our own.   
  
  
When we part, his lips make their way down to my neck again. And further down. My body freezes, as I know what's coming next.  
  
  
Evidently, I'm wrong. He returns to my face.  
  
  
"I'm not going to do this if you're not okay with it," he says quietly, slightly backing away from me. I already miss him. His comfort. I don't want to be even this far away from him when I know I don't have to be.  
  
  
I'm still looking down. I tell him, "I feel awful. But I need to be with you."  
  
  
"You're okay with doing this?"  
  
  
"I can't not do it," I say. I fear that I'm sounding so bad. I know I am. "I'll break up with Luka. I'll do it all. Just don't leave me today."  
  
  
He stares at me for a little while. His eyes are slowly taking me from sanity. I don't want to look away. I might feel too guilty to look back. Why isn't guilt stopping me?  
  
  
Then his eyes tear away and he pulls me closer, one swift moment with one hand. Immediately, we choose to meet in another kiss. I hide a smile safely, but it's entirely what I feel right now. His hands make their way to my thighs again and caress them softly. It's not fair. This is so wrong, and so right. Cliché. I know.  
  
  
Once again, those lips travel firmly from my neck to my chest. My head comes back a little as he kisses there. I can't imagine it any other way. The weird thing is that I can't suffocate the pounding of my heart in my ears. Its not a suspenseful beating, its an easy beating. It's soothing.  
  
  
And I can hear his, too.  
  
  
I'm that close to him.  
  
  
I wonder if he can hear mine. I think to ask him, but I don't want to interrupt him. Whatever he's doing feels so good. Better than most things I've felt before.  
  
  
I reach up, taking my hand away from his chest. My fingers graze the soft short of his hair. His mouth feels so right against me, as mine against him. I think that if I close my eyes, and wish hard enough, it can just be me and him and my head for a while.  
  
  
Wow. It just hit me. I haven't thought of Luka for a while.  
  
  
There's a step forward.  
  
  
Help me.  
  
  
"How do you do it?"  
  
  
It was just a mumbling in his hair. I spoke without thinking. I didn't realize he would hear. Not that it matters. I'm not afraid of him hearing it.  
  
  
"Do what?" he asks between two kisses.  
  
  
"Make me feel like myself," I breathe.  
  
  
He stops. "I didn't do that."  
  
  
"Yes you did," I say, almost enthusiastically. I'm breathing kind of harder now. "You do everything. I told you, Carter, you fix it - "  
  
  
"Shh," he soothes me. I stop getting so harshly excited. I recognize how loud I was and no in apology and consent. He looks up and runs a hand through my hair. I close my eyes again. Please don't ever let this end, God. Please, please, please...  
  
  
I reach up and kiss him. Whether it's soft or hard, I can't tell. I just kiss him, and he immediately kisses me back. I want to cry right now. Every aspect of life that I've been complaining about for the last years of my life is being altered dramatically. In the most wonderful way.  
  
  
How does he do it?  
  
  
His hands are all over my naked body. I don't shudder anymore. I'm hungry for him. I want more to come. I want it to come soon. And I don't want it to end.  
  
  
He makes his way lower again. Further down.   
  
  
God, we're making our way back.  
  
  
But it feels so good.   
  
  
I can't wait. 


	6. Chapter 6

Once again I'm lying here.  
  
  
Funny thing. Luka said he would call me and he hasn't.   
  
  
Huh.  
  
  
Okay, let me clear something up. This is my second day with Carter. I'm in his bed. My second morning. *Our* second morning together. Needless to say, I've enjoyed every minute of our contact. Okay? Anyone who has listened to my rants would have guessed.  
  
  
So I've come to this self-involved conclusion: Abby Lockhart is going to enjoy her time with John Carter.   
  
  
Abby Lockhart is going to go ahead and do this with John Carter.  
  
  
Abby Lockhart is going to have an affair.   
  
  
With John Carter.  
  
  
Please don't think that I'm completely okay with this. But, in some ways I am. Unfortunately, one of my excuses is that Luka hasn't called. But, look at me! I'm happy. Everyone who has been around me could see that. I'm happier than, I'll say it. I'm happier that I have ever been in my entire life.  
  
  
I swear.  
  
  
So I'll say goodbye to the world tonight, and for the rest of my free week. Carter understands. He doesn't do it because he wants me, but because he knows what I feel like. Somehow. Like I said, he just knows.  
  
  
He just is.  
  
  
Honestly, I think people end up in hell for things like this. Am I going against my religion when I say, "So be it?"  
  
  
Let me be. If I want to sin, let me sin.   
  
  
Because no one knows how I feel. I've already told you, I know. But he's the person I want to be with. And I'm afraid. Its not one of the bigger reasons that I'm doing this, but I'm afraid. In fear of my doing something stupid if I am alone this week. Or if I was with Luka.  
  
  
Hell, being with Luka... being alone... starting to become the same thing these days.  
  
  
"Hey," he says turning to me.  
  
  
It strikes my thoughts, and tears them in two. I should thank him for that, but I won't. I don't want to talk now. I want him to talk to me. I love his voice, I love his face. I love when he is speaking directly to me.  
  
  
"How are you?"  
  
  
Now I want to talk. So he will talk back.  
  
  
"Good," I yawn, my arms stretching on either side of his head as it lowers around me. As he kisses me with all of that morning kiss sweetness, I bring those arms down and hook them around his neck. His hands slide up my sides until they're on the length of my stomach. I smile against his lips.  
  
  
"I'm glad you're doing better," he says quietly. He pecks my lips again and I smile. He smiles, too.  
  
  
I'm smiling.  
  
  
"Me, too," I manage as he kisses my eyelids. Would you guess that I didn't even know men kissed women on their eyes? I swear, I have never known. But he did it to me yesterday. And every sane feeling washed away. I asked him about it, and he's said he's never done it before.  
  
  
He kisses my eyes. I... well, that's something I have never had. It's a beautiful move.   
  
  
"I, um," he whispers, brushing hair away from my face and forehead, "I called in for us."  
  
  
My eyebrows arch a bit. "Called in?"  
  
  
"I got us a day off," he says. He doesn't smile. He awaits my reaction.  
  
  
"Carter," I say, a little louder. "People are going to suspect things."  
  
  
"Why?"  
  
  
I sigh. "People see that both you and I have taken a day off - "  
  
  
"I told her that I was helping you look for furniture for your apartment."  
  
  
"Oh, God," I say, putting my hand over my face.  
  
  
"What?" he asks, his face close to mine as he removes the hand from my face. "What? What is it?"  
  
  
"That's the typical affair answer," I argue, propping my body onto my elbows against pillows and a headboard. I reach for my hair tie on the nightstand and pull my hair into a high ponytail. I let my hands fall in frustration and shake my head.  
  
  
"Don't call it that - "  
  
  
"That's what it is, Carter," I say, my head pointed toward the ground. "And I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't." But I want to. I'm already watching his lips.  
  
  
"Don't think about it," he answers, sliding up next to me and taking my side. He puts a hand on my neck and pulls my solemn, frowning face to him. Kissing my cheek, my temples, he says, "Don't think about it."  
  
  
God, I'm so stressed. I told myself I would enjoy this. What happened?  
  
  
I'll fix it before it's too late. I have one week where Luka isn't here, where I finally come to real terms about these feelings, and where I have the chance to be with Carter.  
  
  
Something someone terrible does.   
  
  
I don't care. I can't care today. Or tomorrow. Or for the rest of the week, okay? Don't hate me. I'm allowed to do something stupid and unfair.  
  
  
I nod, my face coming up to meet him. I giggle slightly, shyly and put a hand on each cheek of his. He smiles at this reaction and holds my wrists. He bends and kisses each of them, both of us still smiling vividly.  
  
  
"You," he says with a small chuckle, "are beautiful."  
  
  
I can just smile bashfully and look away. Then back. "Ha, thanks."  
  
  
His face twists into a cute grin. "You are, Abby," he says, kissing wrists again. "You're so beautiful. Look how pretty you are. Just look." He points to the mirror carefully crafted behind us in the headboard.   
  
  
I cock my head and look at him. He just tilts his head to the mirror. I give in, roll my eyes a little, and look over.  
  
  
I see my same face. But, its full of light. I'm smiling. My hands are still holding his face, and he's holding my wrists. Still. He nods with a smile. He's beaming.  
  
  
My smile drops to a frown. As does his.  
  
  
"What?" He looks back toward the mirror, then back to me.  
  
  
I shake my head. Another smile forms. I'll never get tired of smiles. "Look at me," I say simply, my head pointed down. My fingers grace his skin. "I'm smiling. I'm happy, Carter."  
  
  
He laughs and grabs my hands. "Come on."  
  
  
I laugh, too. "What?"  
  
  
He pulls me away from the bed. "Come on."  
  
  
I laugh. Again. I love this game. Its my turn to repeat. "What?"  
  
  
He pulls me into the bathroom, kissing me softly. I take him and attempt to bring him closer. He starts to part, and I separate to question this.  
  
  
He throws in my clothes. "Get ready."  
  
  
I giggle. Me, giggling. "What?"  
  
  
"Get dressed," he says. "We're going out." He nods and throws the door shut. I giggle again for a little bit as I pull my clothes on. I hope that when I open the door he'll just be waiting there, and he'll kiss me. I know it won't happen. Oh, well. I know that he'll be somewhere else in the apartment waiting for me.  
  
  
God, I matter to him. He matters to me.   
  
  
I open the door and the apartment is silent. "Carter?" I call out. From around the corner, there he is. He takes me by my waist and brings me to the door. He's fully dressed. And he's as happy as I am. We walk out the door, giggling like kids all the while.  
  
  
What do you know? He was waiting for me outside that door.  
  
  
*God,* I matter to him.  
  
  
And, God, does he matter to me.  
  
  
  
  
--  
  
  
  
  
Okay, this is the third time I've done this, sorry: My friend, one of my best, Jake, is writing a Survivor fic. My dedication on Thursdays is directed to NBC, so we're fun little rivals. ;) But if there are any fans of the show, I strongly urge you to check out 'Survivor: the Andes.' He's an awesome writer, he's fourteen, and like I said, one of my best friends. :)  
  
manda 


	7. Chapter 7

"Where are you taking me?"  
  
  
He just looks down at my hand in his. They fit so well. He picks it up and carefully re-wraps his around mine. I smile. He's so gentle. "I'm hungry."  
  
  
"We could have ordered pizza."  
  
  
"Or," he sighs, leaning his lips into my hair, "we could go out and eat something. Me in clean clothes and you in something you've worn for a day."  
  
  
I hit him in the chest and we continue walking. I love walking with him.   
  
  
"Let's just get something from a vendor," I suggest.  
  
  
"A vendor?" he chuckles. "Where are there vendors in Chicago?"  
  
  
I laugh, too. "A park?"  
  
  
"A park?" he asks. "Abigail Lockhart wants to go to a park?"  
  
  
I can't believe I'm okay with all of this. Me and him, I mean. Not the damn park.  
  
  
The word 'damn' hardly fits into my vocabulary right now though. I'm still smiling, remember.  
  
  
"We can go to the park and eat pretzels or something," I say with a smile. That's another one.  
  
  
"I think you're confusing Chicago with Manhattan there," he says. His hand slides away from mine and takes a different position around my waist. He brings me closer to him so our sides meet. When they touch, I want to hug him even tighter. But I won't.  
  
  
"Fine," I surrender. "You pick." I add this with a laugh and turn to him. I look up at him. It never hit me how tall he was. Or how short I was.   
  
  
"What about - "  
  
  
"There's a vendor!" I exclaim in pure glory. I point to the side of the street. "Ha! I told you there were vendors around here."  
  
  
" 'Pete's?' " he asks. He shakes his head with another darling chuckle. "I've never heard of them. I think we better steer clear. Might be some foreign crap that gives you diarrhea, or gonorrhea or something - "  
  
  
"Okay, yuck," I say, putting my hand up in the air. "Pete looks like a good guy. I say we go for it."  
  
  
"Go for it?" he says. "Its a pretzel. You don't put that much commitment into a pretzel."  
  
  
"You do for one with a side effect of an STD, apparently," I say, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer yet. He smiles and playfully pulls on my side. "Let's take a risk."  
  
  
"As if there's not enough of that going on already," he says quietly.  
  
  
We can't help but stop. He's hit a spot in me that I really didn't want him to go near. I figured, though, that sooner or later we'd hit it, talk about it. I just didn't think we would be talking about it so soon.   
  
  
"Let's not talk about that," I whisper. "I just want to have fun with you."  
  
  
"You just want to have fun with me?"  
  
  
"Not like that," I say. "As in, I want to forget about Luka right now. Not use you to forget about him."  
  
  
He smiles and kisses me lightly on the lips. "Let's get a pretzel."  
  
  
My frown returns to a smile. We tug on the other's waist childishly for the next minute as we make our way over to the man behind the contraption on wheels. Carter treats me to a pretzel, and whaddya know? Its not that bad.  
  
  
And there's certainly not any obstruction that we spoke of before.  
  
  
We enjoy our snacks and take a seat on a familiar bench. Next to the river. We've been here so often, that I wouldn't find it odd if we ended up getting married here. Hey, I could have kids on this bench.  
  
  
Okay. Either I'm seriously happy or this pretzel's getting to my head. I never say things like that.  
  
  
But we sit down and sit there. Our pretzels are long gone and we're still staring out at the river. My head falls against his shoulder, and his head falls onto mine. I'm guessing its about ten o'clock in the morning. I'm a little cold, but I don't say anything.  
  
  
"It's getting cold, isn't it?" Ha. So much for not saying anything.  
  
  
"You want my jacket?"  
  
  
Any guy would do it, but I find it most thoughtful when he asks. "No, thanks." My offer's another smile, even though he can't see it. My head's still on his shoulder. Our hands remain together, happily resting on his knee.  
  
  
I've said it once before.  
  
  
I think I've repeated everything, but I don't care.  
  
  
I *never* want moments with him to end. Even though, secretly I know that the next one will only be better, I still wish that I'll stay. Frozen or something, I'll stay with him in that never-ending second and enjoy a carefree life. Because in these moments, I do forget everything.  
  
  
Except now. But I know that something will take me away from it -  
  
  
"Are you sure you're not cold?" he asks, cuddling even closer to me. His face sits on my head again, so my face is near his neck.   
  
  
Don't ever let it end, God, please. I can't do it without him.  
  
  
"Not anymore," I giggle. Flirt? Yeah, okay. Maybe.  
  
  
Apparently, our flirting days are over. I'll thank Heaven for that everyday, I will.  
  
  
"Please," he chuckles. "Your hands are like ice. Your fingers."  
  
  
I whimper another giggle, suppressed at my own will. He takes each hand of mine, so gently they're floating, and just holds them. So much feeling is streaming between the two of us right now, you couldn't call it just 'electricity' or whatever anymore. It's serious. And strong. It's what is holding my sanity in that translucent cloud overhead.  
  
  
He turns my face to see his. He smiles. "You're wonderful."  
  
  
I shake my head. "So are you."  
  
  
We stare. Something we've been good at for a while. Our eyes are locked. I can't move. I can't think. I don't want to do anything, in fear that I'll tear us apart. And that's something I definitely cannot do.  
  
  
He breaks it though. I feel its for a good reason.  
  
  
"Come on," he says. "Let's go get ice cream or something."  
  
  
"Ice cream?"  
  
  
"You know, that stuff in a cone." He smirks. "Ice cream."  
  
  
I hug him closer to my body as he stands. I bury my face in his side for a second, near his arm, and I smile. Can you smile 'hard?' Well, that's what I'm doing. Taking in his scent, wanting to cry because I'm so happy, and smiling very 'hard.' I think you can smile 'hard.'  
  
  
I hope he didn't see it, but it's a little hard to miss.  
  
  
He plants a little kiss through my hair and laughs against it. "What do you want to do?"  
  
  
I look up, barely moving from him as we start walking away from our beloved bench. "So, no ice cream?"  
  
  
"You choose."  
  
  
I grin. "Hot fudge sundaes."  
  
  
"Ah," he says, digging a fun hug at me again. I fully surrender and wrap my arms around his neck as he stoops to my level to kiss me.  
  
  
We're both smiling.  
  
  
"Come on," he says with a nod. "Doc Magoo's, or is that too close to the hospital?"  
  
  
I frown. "Don't act like we have perimeters now."  
  
  
"Sorry," he says, looking down, "but, I'm serious. Only for your sake."  
  
  
"My sake?"  
  
  
"I mean," he starts, "you're the one who said you were suspicious about people at the hospital. What they might think."  
  
  
I nod now. "Yeah, okay. I see what you mean."  
  
  
We walk a little. I don't know where we're going. I haven't confirmed Doc's yet, neither have I commented on the hospital-gossip situation. I should have. I should.  
  
  
"Are you upset?"  
  
  
I look up at him. I can't smile, though. Its too difficult. "No," I say, small voice reigning. "I just didn't want us like this."  
  
  
"What?" he asks immediately.  
  
  
"I want to be with you," I say strongly. "But I can't help but feel guilty. I'm sorry - "  
  
  
"Don't be," he whispers. We stop walking and I realize that we haven't even come far from the bench. I'd rather go back there now with him, if that is at all feasible... "If you don't feel so great about this, then we shouldn't be doing it I guess."  
  
  
"Did you think I felt okay with it before?"  
  
  
"No," he says. "I know you. But if you don't want to do this - "  
  
  
"I want to be with you."  
  
  
"That's not what I'm saying," he protests calmly. "If you don't want to do this, this behind Luka's back, then you shouldn't."  
  
  
"You don't want to."  
  
  
"I don't want to be away from you," he says, sighing. "But I don't want to be in something you don't like."  
  
  
"I can't stand another four days."  
  
  
"I think you can."  
  
  
"I think I can stand another four days then of guilt, torture and conscious-beating," I say. "If that's what it takes."  
  
  
"Please be careful with this decision, Abby," he says, taking my shoulders. "I don't like to see you unhappy or anything."  
  
  
"I'm happy," I say. "It'll be about fifty-fifty until Luka gets back, you know."  
  
  
He pulls me into another hug after a second. I smile into him again. Hard. 


	8. Chapter 8

So we've done everything like a normal couple now. Something I've barely experienced with the feeling we share. Everything's kind of tense for some reason. Well, maybe 'tense' isn't the correct word. In fact, it couldn't be the right word at all. We have too much fun together. Life is almost literally a breeze when I'm with him.  
  
  
But sitting here on the couch, listening to the gentle pour of the shower where he stands at this moment, I realize something I've already known. But, of course, I've chosen to think about it now, when I should be adoring the man again.  
  
  
Well, I shouldn't be adoring him. I should adoring Luka, until we break up.  
  
  
With me and Carter though - it is a different kind of relationship. In two ways. But, leave it to me to think of the negative side this minute. Every time we're together, doing the easiest of things, it feels like we're not going to be doing that one thing the next day. It could be the last day of us, the last day of our lives, the last day ever. Whatever it is, it's different.   
  
  
It's like, deep down, we're both saying goodbye.  
  
  
Believe me: you have no idea how much it upsets me when three ideas, three goals are shooting through my mind, each opposing the other. In one corner, all I'm trying to do is be a good girlfriend to Luka. (That's pretty much destroyed.) In another, I'm trying to have fun with Carter. And I am. But there's the other corner. Where a tense cloud hangs around, and I can't break through.  
  
  
Once again: tense? Not the right term. Whatever kind of cloud it was, it was a bad one. It just sat there. We barely saw through it. Don't get me wrong - Carter and I have fun. We have so much fun. We laugh, smile, kiss, hug, hold hands. We talk until we're fighting to keep our eyes in the middle of the night. And then we nestle into the other and fall asleep.  
  
  
But I can't help but feel that it would be easier... well of course it'd be easier.  
  
  
That's when I want to just slap my wrist and say, "bad Abby" for all the things I've done lately. I'm a terrible person. I know I am. It becomes strikingly more apparent, more evident, and more of an enemy each time the thought enters my mind. Not just terrible because of my abandoning loyalty to Luka, but for everything else.  
  
  
I feel this way when I'm alone.  
  
  
I shouldn't depend like this on Carter. In a way that I'm only happy when I'm next to him. It isn't healthy. But why am I like this? That's how it's worked for the last few days. I actually can look forward to only holding his hand, just to know that it won't let me go for those instants I've fallen in love with. Very much.  
  
  
The water stops in the bathroom and I know he'll be out in ten minutes. We, unfortunately, have almost done the entire affair ritual. Taken showers, slept together, walked about the city. The only things we haven't committed would be carrying on at the workplace and eating dessert off of the other. Chocolate syrup, strawberries, etc.   
  
  
That doesn't make anything just though.  
  
  
But because we've taken showers together, I know what he's doing at this very moment. He's patting his body dry with that towel. The white one he likes to have hanging near the shower. I know this because, well, he told me. And I've walked in on him doing before.  
  
  
Next, he'll throw on the cotton robe. The one I snuggled into my first night here. I can't put it back on, for fear even greater guilt than I house now might eat me alive. But, everyday the scent draws me closer to it. I resist. Barely.  
  
  
With the robe on, he'll shave. Embarrassed am I to admit that I enjoy watching a man perform this procedure. Don't ask me why. It's just the way he does it. Especially the way he does it. Carter. He does everything to my liking.  
  
  
He's rummaging through the medicine cabinet now. Going for the shaving cream, I know. I smile at my pathetic little knowledge and sink lower into the couch cushion. My eyes are hardly focused on the television screen in front of me. Instead, they drifted closely to the floor.  
  
  
If he was here now, I'd lazily fall into his arms. And why not? He hugs me every time. Without question. Somehow, he knows every ounce of turmoil swirled inside this mess of my mind. Somehow. And each time, he comforts me with every effort he has. Sometimes with words, with many or just one, and sometimes with just a smile. Or nothing.  
  
  
One of my favorite things about him (of the many, many things) is the way he rests his face, mostly his lips, into my hair. Once again, don't even question it. I just love the way we connect. Physically, emotionally. With one wrap of his arms, and one sigh from my lips, we're together. That's the way it's been.  
  
  
In a way, I need to laugh at myself. For doing this all. I'm that weak, that I can't wait a week for one man to come home. This man who hugs me, too. Kisses me, too. Makes love to me, too.  
  
  
It's not a matter of competition in the sense of who is better at it. That's definitely not what I'm looking at. But Carter is better at it because it feels like he cares. He kisses me like I'm the woman he needs as much as he is the man that I need.   
  
  
Luka kisses me with passion, but I can't kiss him back the same way.  
  
  
Carter. He hugs me like there's no tomorrow. He hugs me like he's protecting me from every trouble, every worry that's danced in my mind since age four. He hugs me like God gave him a heart for it alone.  
  
  
Luka isn't a hugger. He hugs me when I pout, as if I'm upset or might cry. Something I'd never do in front of Luka. Barely any man for that matter.  
  
  
And when Carter and I are in the middle of making love, I can see him. And he can see me. And every feeling, pulse is so evident. Those feelings I thought existed only in tales, the ones that I'd long given up hope on. Stored in the back in my mind until I met Carter. Or, been with him rather. Maybe when we had become friends, possibly.  
  
  
To me, Luka and I have sex because we both believe we should. Because it's part of the relationship. I don't know if he feels this way. He probably doesn't. It's a shallow way to think. But it's the way I've felt. I know it's just awful, but its true.  
  
  
See. I've compared the two. I've done it too much in the last few days.  
  
  
I'm starting to seriously wonder when God's going to make his appearance and tell me how I've messed up. And maybe when Satan himself makes his own delivery and invites me to Hell. Personally.  
  
  
I'm in both places right now. Wow, am in Heaven when I'm with Carter.  
  
  
But, boy, am I in Hell when I'm without him. Or right here, right now.  
  
  
Or, when I'm with Luka.  
  
  
Click. Another revelation just now.  
  
  
Turning point? Maybe. I realize just how unhappy I really am with Luka. Up until now, I've said that only because I know how happy I am with Carter.  
  
  
But, how could I forget the nights that I silently crept into the bathroom to cry, slipping from his grip in a bed? How many times I've let my eyes wonder to Carter's position rather than my own boyfriend's? Or how many times I've wondered what it would be like to finally be here in Carter's arms, and not Luka's?  
  
  
I'm horrible, truly horrible.  
  
  
But when the door swings open nicely just now, I realize how truly happy I am right now. In the midst of all this self-loathing, I love myself for an unmoral decision that I've made.  
  
  
And I love him.  
  
  
Oh, God.  
  
  
I want to take it back. Right now.   
  
  
I lied to myself. I've been with this man for, what, four days, and I tell myself I have fallen in love with him? Get a grip, Abby. Love takes time. You grow to love someone, not choose to love. I think I'd know that from experience, anyway.  
  
  
I wrap my arms around my own body this time. I don't want to think about what I'm confessing to my own mind. My heart.  
  
  
Wait. It's my heart that's making this confession. Intelligence doesn't produce love in any way. It doesn't work that way. My heart alone is telling me this.   
  
  
When I tell myself that I love him, I want to look at the clock and document the exact time I've figured it out. But I can't let Abby Lockhart go that far. She has boundaries, I say to my mind. Or rather, my heart again.  
  
  
"What are you thinking about?" I was right. The soft robe is sitting on his shoulders. He's shaven, and his feet are bare. He's raw, but clean before me. I get a feeling that this is the quintessential opposite of all of my feelings.  
  
  
But, it is probably the synonymous pair to my feelings.   
  
  
Please, tell me this is not happening to me.   
  
  
You! "Nothing." My eyes drift, more dart, away from him and fall to the ground. The floor makes soft noises as he comes near me and sits down aside my smaller body on the couch.   
  
  
Don't act like you don't want him near you, I say to myself. Don't act like you want to reject him.  
  
  
I'd be stupid to say that I don't. In one swift movement, I want to pick him up and tell him how everything he's done has mad the biggest difference in my life. How he's so perfect in every view. In every law. I want to explain to him that he makes me complete.  
  
  
And that I love him.  
  
  
Stop it, Abby!  
  
  
I tell myself that I can't love him, my only excuse being that it's too fast. As I've said, it takes time. Things grow. They don't erupt like this.  
  
  
He runs gentle fingers through my hair. My eyes close without noticing, and I want to just let my head fall against his hand. My life could end here, and I know it would be painless.  
  
  
Though, pain would be just a minor punishment for everything I've done.  
  
  
I hate myself right now. I love this man, and I hate myself.  
  
  
He's so good to me. I deserve nothing of the sort. He treats me like I've always wanted to be treated and I do this to another person that I should be in love with. Not Carter. Not him.  
  
  
I want to be, though.  
  
  
A flash of light, if you will, slaps me in the face. It's not always about you, Abby, I tell myself. Because it isn't. Everyone has to make sacrifices. I tell myself over and over again that the world does not revolve around me.  
  
  
The problem is that I've said to myself that the only reason I'm doing this is to be happy.   
  
  
Well, I don't have the right to be happy. People don't do things like this. When I had the chance, I could have broken up with Luka. It would have been cruel, but it would have been more moral than doing it this way.  
  
  
The night of our first kiss, I could have gone outside and told him that it was over. Than I could have ran back inside and kissed him. Cruel. Very cruel. But it doesn't get any crueler than the situation I've managed to drag myself into this time.  
  
  
One that I've never been tangled in before.   
  
  
He puts arms around me. Tighter than ever.   
  
  
Call me crazy. Please do. Go ahead and pull a thermometer on me if you must, but I think he feels the same way. Maybe. Maybe, I said. I doubt it. But, I feel something.  
  
  
Maybe he's just hugging me that tight.  
  
  
And maybe that's the reason he's hugging me that tight.  
  
  
  
  
  
--  
  
  
  
  
Okay, the only reason I'm adding to the end of this one is because I had to let everyone know that I tried to get a certain amount of emotions in this fic. I tried to aim for Abby turning suddenly hating-guiltily on herself right after she mentioned she loved him. Please tell me if it worked. I doubt it did. Whether it was too strong, and obvious, subtle, whatever. I also had her ease up the lightest when he hugged her. Kind of like (call me a loser ;) ) when there's that moment of serenity after clouds clear up after a storm... you know...  
  
- mandy 


	9. Chapter 9

I love this man.  
  
  
And I'm not necessarily happy about saying that.  
  
  
I thought I loved Richard. I was sure I did. It's not like it was a complete wreck from the start. We never had this passion or this spontaneity like Carter and I, but that's not especially required in a relationship. Only in Hollywood big-screen marriages and relationships. So I married Richard. Because we were in love.  
  
  
That's one of the things you do when you're in love. You get married. And live happily ever after, growing old together with grandchildren on your knee, etc., etc., etc. But, obviously it didn't work out that way for Richard. The real drama of modern marriage became an ultimate obstacle. You don't want to stay in something like that. I didn't want to, that's for sure. I had enough courage and strength to tell myself for once that I wouldn't be happy like this.  
  
  
And I already wasn't. So I got a divorce. We got a divorce. I don't enjoy having 'divorcee' stamped on my life record, but that's the way it went. Must say that I'm much more happier to be apart from the man than with him. It didn't fit right, Richard and Abby Lockhart. We weren't 'meant to be.'  
  
  
You know, up until now, I almost *hated* that saying. I believed that there was someone for everyone, but there were always those little people who weren't allowed that luxury. The people who didn't get their one special person.  
  
  
And, you guessed it; I believed I'd fallen into that category.  
  
  
But now I'm not so sure. I don't know what I'm thinking exactly, really. I'd been with him for six days. Six whole, wonderful, worth-it days. Indescribably amazing, life-altering, over the stars, fairytale romance days.   
  
  
And, yeah, its still me speaking here.  
  
  
I have *never,* *ever* felt anything like this before. I've already mentioned it, but I've been repeating myself for the last week anyway. The last thirty years of my life, at all.  
  
  
"Could you check vitals in 4?"  
  
  
I nod Chuny's way. My feet move swiftly. It's the way it's done in the ER. My job as a nurse. I love the fact that people think we're a doctor's sidekick, the Robin to Batman. It gives me motivation everyday to almost prove them wrong. Or to show them, rather, that we do our own thing.  
  
  
I think everyone at work has noticed a difference in me. I'm still setting a confused mood now, but I smile. Especially when I'm with Carter. I've said that we haven't fooled around or anything in the lounge, or at work at all. And that was the truth. I don't plan to unless I'm solely dedicated to him, morally and technically. Completely. Not just because it would be wrong to Luka, but because it would be wrong to Carter. Although he's been in on this dirty scam with me in a way, he still doesn't deserve to be hurt. Especially when I chose to be with him over another. And if I couldn't dedicated my thoughts completely to Carter, as they are focused on more now, than it would be wrong.  
  
  
Good God, my head is clouded with a lot. It's a wonder I still perform this job everyday. But, I do. And I do it well, in my opinion.   
  
  
Vitals are checked. Job done in exam four. Now I need a break.  
  
  
"Trauma, Abby. We're headed to 2."  
  
  
"Okay," I call, sighing. No break.  
  
  
I make my way over to another room now, my eyes meeting the board for a second. The name 'Carter' flashes in front of me, and I don't care to waste time. I make my run to the noted Curtain Area 3, and see just a little boy sitting there, his mother holding his hand. The hand is wrapped in a bandage.  
  
  
I sigh in relief. I'm either paranoid, or hopelessly in love. What a dork.  
  
  
"Are you the nurse?" the woman asks hopefully.  
  
  
"Um," I stammer. "Actually, I wanted to tell you that a trauma just came in, and we're short on staff, so it might be a little longer before someone comes to see you." I smile at the child on the cot, who smiles back while his mother grunts.  
  
  
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'll try to get someone over here as soon as possible."  
  
  
She nods, disappointed and pats her son's hand.  
  
  
I walk away from them, making my way to the trauma room. I can already spot Kerry glaring at me, so I slip on gloves and Malik helps me with the gown. I thank him and slip into the room. Slip? There's never slipping into a trauma. You *burst* into a trauma.  
  
  
And what a world it is.  
  
  
Alarms calling in every corner, shouts from either side of the body, and a pair of hands on every section of the patient. Commands thrown, equipment passed, and wires and tubes here, there. I don't waste time to smile at the scene; I'm used to it. I only nod at Kerry and Lewis, who are already working on the boy.  
  
  
For some reason I don't want to be here. Maybe its because I want to have coffee with Carter. He has the day off. I didn't try to get it off as well, for two reasons. One, he's sick. If I played the good little girlfriend, I'd go home and make him soup, fluff his pillows. But it seems to sickening. Well, in an affair-affiliated way. And two, people suspect things easily. County General's ER is most definitely not an exception to this rule.  
  
  
It never would be. I think I am the only nurse around here who doesn't ride the gossip train.  
  
  
I do like to know things though. Believe me. It's a nurse thing, I guess. Yosh and Malik do it too, so it's not a girl thing particularly.   
  
  
Maybe I can't see John today. At least not until tonight. So, I'll call him. Kerry dismisses us as the patient becomes stable, so I push off my gloves, tear off the gown, and walk away in satisfaction.  
  
  
I walk right out of the trauma room, but to the empty one next door. Before I shut the door, I tell Susan about the little boy in Curtain 3, and she says she'll see him when she can. I grin and shut the door behind me. I quickly reach for the phone, a smile already fast approaching. I'm awful.  
  
  
I dial the number and pray to God that he answers and that no one hears this conversation. Or even my end of it.  
  
  
It's ringing.  
  
  
It's still ringing.  
  
  
Still ringing.  
  
  
Please pick up, I pray. I close my eyes and wish, hard, that he just pick up the phone. So I can hear his voice and know he'll talk to me for an instant before I go back to work -   
  
  
"Hello?" a sleepy voice greets me.  
  
  
My smile overtakes my entire face and my heart skips a beat. I'm crazy. "Hi, its me, Abby."  
  
  
There's a chuckle. "Hey, what are you doing?"  
  
  
I giggle back. "I'm just out of a trauma. I miss you."  
  
  
"Miss you, too."  
  
  
"How's your headache?"  
  
  
"Ah," he sighs heavily, "about the same. My throat's starting to get bad, too."  
  
  
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Do you want me to bring you anything? I'm going to try and take my break soon."  
  
  
"Sure," he says kindly. "Could you get me something to eat? I'm starving."  
  
  
I smile. I realize that he can't see me, but I do it anyway. "Sure, what do you want?"  
  
  
"Surprise me."  
  
  
"Okay," I giggle again. Giggling's not so bad, I guess. Not too girly if I do it right. "That all?"  
  
  
"Stay for a while."  
  
  
My cheeks are flushing crimson, I know it. "I will," I say quietly.  
  
  
We say our gentle good-byes and he blows me a kiss over the phone leisurely. I wish he was in front of me, so I could collapse into his arms and fall asleep. I'm tired. I miss him, I do.  
  
  
I recognize that the perfect way to end that conversation would have been to say, "I love you."  
  
  
But I don't think he feels that way. I don't blame him. We've only been with each other for six days. It's literally impossible for someone to fall in love that fast. Except a foolish thirty-some nurse in a different dead-end relationship with a guy, tied into a romantic affair...  
  
  
Don't think about, I tell myself. Don't even start. Go see Carter. The guy you love. I'll reward myself for no reason.   
  
  
I suffocate a poor smile from my face, making my way from the room. It is too quiet in here. It only adds to the guilt factor. Judging by how far I've cared to carry on with someone else, that guilt factor isn't heavy enough.  
  
  
Thinking that it will all come to a stop tomorrow is more comforting. The end of it will finally be here. I won't have to feel like I'm sneaking around all the time, which I am, and I can be with Carter wherever, whenever, however I want to.   
  
  
This idea brings a smile too difficult to hide. I have to refrain from biting my lip in complete and udder girlish fashion. I put a hand over my face, I actually do, to conceal it from anyone who might notice it. I could laugh at the fact that I'm thinking that 'Carter' is written, laced about my lips.  
  
  
I'm already in the lounge. While I'm slipping on my coat and scarf, a figure appears behind me.  
  
  
"Hey," says a quick voice.  
  
  
I turn around and smile. "Hey I was just taking my break. Haleh said you weren't feeling too well."  
  
  
"Hookie," Lydia laughs. "You don't sound too well, though."  
  
  
It has barely occurred to me that I *am* sick. My head hurts, and my throat is tender, but I had assumed it was because I was just a little upset. I rub my throat without thinking and blink as I turn back around to close my locker. Should I still be using this? "Yeah, I guess." I whir around, waving my hand and laughing slightly. "Hookie?"  
  
  
She smiles and puts a finger to her lips. "Weaver could be anywhere."  
  
  
I chuckle again and pull on my hat, over my ears. "I'll see you later."  
  
  
She waves to me lazily as she sheds her jacket, and I leave the room. It isn't as cold as I though it would be, but for sake of story, I wrap my arms around myself generously. Looking up toward the sky, I don't want to smile.  
  
  
It suddenly hits me. No, I mean *really* hits me. I'm having an affair. This isn't like me at all. I never wanted Carter and I to be together like this. My arms drop to my sides, and I come to a stop in the middle of the dirty pavement, frowning at the slush surrounding my feet. The slush filled with dirt, filth, muck, more...  
  
  
My body freezes. Why am I doing this? Guilt is the most disgusting feeling in the world, and its exactly what I'm feeling now. Guilt. More guilt. I want to sit right here and fall. Fall down and let God choose who will pick me up.   
  
  
Because I'm not worthy to choose at all.  
  
  
My face quivers slightly and I know that everyone person passing me is frowning upon my poor example. Why haven't I been? I should be beating myself up over this. I'm not supposed to be with this man. Not yet.   
  
  
I skip his meal. No, it isn't his problem to deal with. He's hungry. I step into a restaurant, purchase a single hamburger and fries meal, and walk right back out. With the bag in one hand and his soda in the other, I try not to burrow away into the ground. I need to disappear, that's what I need.  
  
  
I seriously feel like I could hurt myself. Not in a terrible way, but I deserve it so richly by now.  
  
  
Six days of pure diabolic activity. Am I a victim, or a culprit?  
  
  
I shake my head. I stand in front of the door, contemplating whether or not to carry inside. At once, I know I will. I crave him, but I so don't want to. I do, but I don't. Why, oh why can't I understand myself?   
  
  
I open the door, walk inside and set the food down on the table, my keys quietly joining them. I whisper through the apartment, careful not to disturb him.  
  
  
"That you?"  
  
  
I am not smiling. "Yeah, I brought you some food."  
  
  
He steps from his bedroom in his comfortable pajamas, smiling. I think he notices me, but doesn't say anything. He looks at me for a while though, until my gaze shifts to the floor.  
  
  
If I can't even look at him, how will I ever face Luka?  
  
  
"Something wrong?"  
  
  
I stand still. For a while I'm not sure if I'm going to do anything. I don't even know if I am capable of doing anything right now, whether it be talking, moving, anything. My feet seem held to one area on the floor, my hands firm at my sides, and my neck now aching as I continue to stare downward. I nod.  
  
  
"What is it?"  
  
  
Improvisation; here it goes. I hate my life right now. "Look at me."  
  
  
So he does. Puzzled.  
  
  
"I'm cheating."  
  
  
He sighs and comes toward me, but I pull away. I can see he understands and he takes a seat at the table. He sulks slightly.  
  
  
"I kissed you, I slept with you, I dated you," I say sadly. "I'm not supposed to go behind someone's back like this. No one is."  
  
  
He's still looking at the ground. Whether I want him to stay that way or look at me again... I don't know...  
  
  
"I know there's a day left until Luka comes back," I whisper, "but I can't be that kind of person. I've spent the last six days enjoying myself, and it was wrong."  
  
  
I wonder how long silence will stand between us.  
  
  
"I want to be with you, Carter," I whimper against the dark air. It's far too still in here. "So badly."  
  
  
He nods, sorry to the ground.   
  
  
"Even if I have to wait a day," I say. "And I still be upset if you don't want to - "  
  
  
"I do," he says, finally looking up. I'm glad he did. Still no smile appears on my face, though. He stands up and takes a stand closer to me. "I still want to be with you."  
  
  
Still no smile, but it's warmer on the inside. A lot warmer.  
  
  
"I feel guilty about it, too," he says nicely. "I'm just as bad at this. As long as you tell Luka the truth - "  
  
  
I'd forgotten about that. I had totally skipped over the entire idea. I put a hand over my eyes.  
  
  
"You're not going to tell him?"  
  
  
"I am," I announce firmly. Surprise.   
  
  
He nods and comes toward me. He hugs me lightly, but it's still warm. I am reluctant to hug him back, so I don't. I feel like I should just place a hand on the back of his neck and pull him closer to me, but I can't. It's too wrong.  
  
  
"I love you already," I murmur against his neck.   
  
  
The words come out in a heavy, husky voice. I barely recognize it as my own. I'm still aware of my face gently pressed against his body, wondering where the rest of the universe is. Not that I care. I try to suppress the need to touch his face, and I succeed. Barely.  
  
  
He immediately pulls me away and stares at me. I feel I should take it back. He doesn't feel the same at all.   
  
  
But he nods. Again. I don't know what that means. What does that mean?  
  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
  
I freeze. My heart, my head, my body. They all go frozen for a minute as I try and decipher what he's just said. It shouldn't take too much time. It's only four words, right? It's more to me. So much more. They're completely reaching out to me and sending me a single message.  
  
  
"You love me?" I say, hushed.  
  
  
All I can do is breathe out so slowly as he begins to nod. Something I've wished for for so long without even knowing it has come true. There's only one thing I feel right now. Only one thing I can understand in the midst of millions of thoughts rushing through my mind right now.  
  
  
I want to kiss him. He loves me. Its only appropriate to.   
  
  
"I want to kiss you once more before I leave then," I say. I hope it doesn't sound the way I was afraid of. Sounding to against my belief or word, for starters, that I sang a minute ago.  
  
  
"You sure you - "  
  
  
I nod feverishly with my eyes sealed, and he doesn't waste time to take me and kiss me tightly. Every charge runs again, but its too short by my standards. But I know why he did it. So I nod and turn away. He tells me he loves me again, and I keep walking out the door.  
  
  
"Wait," he says calmly, grabbing my wrist.  
  
  
I look at him. I want him to talk so much.  
  
  
"Don't forget," he whispers with eyes fixed to mine, "to come back."  
  
  
  
  
  
--  
  
  
  
  
Second commercial into "Walk Like a Man," so that's why it got so thin and stringy at the end. :)  
  
mandy 


	10. Chapter 10

Before I begin, someone asked me if I meant to write in fragments like I do. Like, "I'm trying to have fun with Carter. And I am." Or, "...those instants I've fallen in love with. Very much." (those were the best I could find, spur of the moment.) Truth is, yeah I mean to. It's more of a thought that way. I write like it a lot. I don't know how unprofessional, how childish (or younger) it is, but it's a little thing I like to call 'poetic license,' right? And the person who asked me was a little, like, afraid to ask. Hey, I don't care! :) I love getting email, reviews, feedback, anything! Even flames, but let's go easy on those, 'kay? (kidding)  
  
Here's the last part. I *might* do an epilogue, but I have to read all ten chapters together before that's decided. Thanks for all the support with this fic; it's been great. :)  
  
  
--  
  
  
  
My feet. They're numb. Numb with every twang of confusion hitting my mind right now. Every roll of thunder bringing my mind to its knees, and to near tears. Every crashing wave to an unsettling shore. I'm starting to wonder when the clouds will open up, and God will appear. I wish he would guide me. I'm not asking for wings. I'm asking for help.  
  
  
I'm not stupid, completely. I ended things with Carter because it was immoral. It was wrong. What kind of person am I? Abby Lockhart. I have to have an affair for a maximum of seven days because my boyfriend disappears from my world, from the city of Chicago? I can't even hold out for one week. One lousy week. What was my excuse? That I would die if I couldn't have sex with Carter before the week was up?  
  
  
I'm weak, I'm terrible. I'm a horrid person. I don't deserve to be walking home without some person mugging me or molesting me, robbing me or hurting me. I wish they would. That could be God's help. I don't understand why I am allowed to be so safe after all I've done so wrong.   
  
  
Luka didn't disappear though. And I didn't go to Carter for sex. I have to tell myself that. I love this man. And he knows that I do. Hell, he said he loved me back. I didn't expect it to, and I kind of hoped it wouldn't, but my heart skipped a beat. I've learned that is not a figure of speech. It literally will skip. Either that, or your mind loses itself and doesn't care to notice. All I could feel were the words against me somehow. I don't know where they were targeted: my heart, my mind. But they hit me in a wonderful spot. I couldn't help but feel happy, overwhelmed, guilty and afraid all at once. Afraid? I don't know what I'm afraid of. It just flows with me. I'll refuse to admit it, but who is listening to my thoughts? They're my last sanctuary now. No one cares to listen about these paltry, inadequate rants. No one listens.  
  
  
Except for Carter. He actually does.  
  
  
I shake my head into the collar of my coat and slide the key from my pocket. I proceed to open the door with the tool. My hands are swollen with another feeling, but you couldn't tell from the outside. Only I can tell it. A couple exits the door next to mine. Their faces are drawn to quiet, but not solemn frowns. They walk past me. I wonder how they feel about each other. I wonder why they're frowning.  
  
  
I wonder if they're in love. If every waking moment of that feeling is as difficult for them as it is for me. So bad, that they have to pluck themselves from the sheets of their bed, which have brought them no comfort during their nights. It can't be this unfair to everyone.  
  
  
But I remind myself as I pitch the keys to the table that I'm the one that made it so unfair for myself. I rushed into something that could have waited. I could have been completely perversely rude and broke up with Luka on the phone. I would never do that, seeing as I was on my way to Carter's in the first place, but it's just an example. One way that I didn't have to be so narrow about everything.  
  
  
All I want to do is crash on the couch and shut my eyes to my life. With this meeting of eyelids, I'd throw away everything in the world tonight. And I wouldn't deal with it until tomorrow. As I glance to the clock, I see that I have six hours before I have to get up for work. Six hours. Six hours of pure sleep, hopefully. However, chances are I will only be plagued with thoughts of this insane scenario laced through my mind. And that's if I happen to get lucky and fall asleep.  
  
  
I've slept peacefully enough this last week considering the conditions. For the first two nights next to Carter, I told myself not to look at him if I was awake. I didn't want to see him sleeping. I knew immediately that I would cave at the site and grow weak in the knees. It didn't matter if I wasn't standing up; I couldn't grip that subject. Love isn't something I experience regularly. Counting Richard, I've never witnessed it myself, through my eyes, until this with Carter.  
  
  
I wish it hadn't taken a dirty affair to come to this conclusion, I whisper in my head as I drag myself to the bed in Luka's apartment. Sometimes when you watch those romantic affairs on television, you wish you could do it, right? Not the whole 'affair' part, but there's something in the eyes of secret that makes it so glorious. So dangerous. Not the affair, but the secret. Yeah, that's right.  
  
  
But, right now, I wish I'd never done any of it. Partially. I don't know where I would be if I hadn't done this thing. Most likely, I would still be lying here in Luka's bed, still and crisp against the undisturbed sheets. I feel dirty. I feel like a stench, that should be pushed away.   
  
  
I glance downward, stealing a glimpse of my toes. They're pulling upward through the comforter, thick around my body. Yes, my toes. They seem so perfectly innocent. Don't think I'm crazy, but think about it. My toes. Clean from the shower I've taken this morning, but worn from the wandering I have done today. From the work, walking up and down hospital corridors. Much resembling my attitude, my mind. My conduct, my demeanor, I guess toward life.   
  
  
My demeanor. I don't want to go there, I really don't.  
  
  
I'm so glad that the sun isn't out right now. I like things dark for now. No other way suits me at the moment. My mind is a shadow against the living, disturbing and hollow. There's no other way for it to be, and if it was, I wouldn't be worthy of a single soulful thing. Or a being. A man, a friend, or a family.  
  
  
I feel reluctant to wrap my arms around my body, but give in and do so. I'm aware that I could just turn up the furnace in here; it's freezing. But I'll keep it cold. Cold and dark. Cold and dark in an unknown bed. One in which the sheets fall around me as if they're my enemies. None of these are my friends. They cloud around me and take no shape, no form, and no need for my body.  
  
  
I feel unwanted right now. So horribly unwanted that sometimes it makes me sick. In fact, I've thought about rushing my way to the women's bathroom and just crying to the odd silence. Even if it had to be to the depressing site of a toilet. Ugh. When did things get so awful?  
  
  
Every inch of my body aches with a pain I can't recognize. With my entire story, shouldn't these pains be those of guilt? Or fear? That seems to be my theme lately, anyways. It only takes me a few moments to realize that these are those undeniable stings of love. Oh, God, what I would give to take these way. I don't understand. I thought that if I was miserable, hating myself, I wouldn't have time to think about love. Why do I think about him now, at the moment where I definitely should not be? Why is he still in my head? Hell, why is he still in my heart? Why is he here, in another's bed with me tonight? Why is he with me? And why have I held myself to him tonight?  
  
  
So many questions without answers. But they're all just questions, so why aren't they answered? My fingers gripping at my shirt only says to me just how cold its grown. This apartment feels so much more irregular than before. I dare to wish that Carter would come through the door and hug me, kiss me then leave. Just a second to be with him. Even if it has to be without words. I can cope with only that tonight.  
  
  
Get real, I tell the dark as I find myself believing it might happen. My mind is stuck on three words that we've told each other.  
  
  
"I love you already." It's what I had said softly, breaking down into unseen tears. He answered me the same. He loved me.  
  
  
These words are playing over and over again in my head, convincing me that for once this is real. That I haven't fallen into a cruel joke. For once I'm down the right road, I know what I want. I'm tired of people thinking that I don't know, that I don't feel. One day inside this troubled mind, and they would get it all. This jumble of feelings I could never share with the outside world.  
  
  
I crave for his arms to hang around mine. I cry out into my battered mind for him to come and fine me. His voice is crawling through my skin, inching up my body now. I want to swat at them - tell them that I have had enough, and that I can't take anymore. It's torture. It surprises me that I don't even think about standing and running to him.  
  
  
I've been awake too long. I now have five and a half hours before I have to wake up to the sun. The light, the new day I have to turn to. I'm forced, yes forced, to wake up each day. As pathetic as it sounds, Carter can save me from that, it's for sure. As long as I'm forced to wake up with him each day -   
  
  
I stop myself from thinking about him as best I can. While I'm in Luka's bed, my thoughts will be cloaked in thoughts of him alone. No one else. Whether they're bad or good, well, that's up to my conscious decision. I can't control what I think half of the time anyway. As long as I don't mention Carter's name to myself again. Not yet.  
  
  
My eyes are growing heavy. I pretend to fight it, then ease down, hoping to trick my own eyes into growing even weightier. I succeed. Before I know it, my eyes are pressed together. Remarkably, I'm falling asleep. I fall asleep shivering. It's still cold. And, oh, so dark.   
  
  
Without him.  
  
  
--  
  
  
As soon as my eyes are closed, I awaken to the sun. That's the worse thing about falling asleep is that as soon as you're out, you're back. You can't think while you're sleeping. You only wake up. It isn't fair. I need rest.   
  
  
My body is still solid in the midst of the bed. I attempt to remove myself from the bed; I can't stay in here any longer. It's eating me away. This bed, this apartment, this...  
  
  
This man next to me. What is he doing here?  
  
  
I freeze. My leg hits him as I start to slide away. And that's when I first see him. His thick black hair hangs lazily over his eyes. His face is pulled into a frown. It's a sad frown. Does he know something? I hush myself. I don't know how to tell him. He slept next to me last night. Given, he didn't make a move to touch me. Does that mean anything?   
  
  
He's in full dress, too. Sweater and jeans. I'm only in a thin shirt and jeans. I'm still cold. My fingers are ice against my warm face as I contemplate my next move. I don't know if I should wake him up.  
  
  
Blame poor judgment, but I step from the bed. Maybe it's not such bad judgment. Think about it. Well, don't. By keeping him asleep, my plan was to prolong this distance between us as long as possible. Consequently, it's keeping Carter and I farther apart as well. I don't like any of this, I tell myself for the umpteenth time. God, what a mess.  
  
  
I get the strength to walk to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. I don't feel hungry. I need something to think with. A single piece of toast. That's healthy enough for me. I'm not doing so well as it is. What I really need is one of those 'balanced breakfasts,' the ones they mention in cereal commercials: orange juice, milk, toast, cereal, and whatever else. I could probably add bacon, eggs, sausage, and fancy silverware. With that much food, and utensils that complicated, I might vomit into my lap.   
  
  
I reach for the bread on the counter. Toast it is.  
  
  
I think I hear something stir, and I pray it's not the being in the room I've just abandoned. I aim to reroute the sound elsewhere, away from me. Maybe then it won't exist. Am I afraid of him, or the fact of our encounter on this subject? I decide that the two are the same things. I'm not afraid of him. He's too sweet to me. I'm afraid of confrontation now. Just this once. And every other time after this one.  
  
  
If only I could have waited one week. Really, would it have been that hard? I would have missed every feeling I felt this week, sure, but would it be worth it to keep a friend? Luka and I could never be friends after I tell him. Never ever. Why would one be friends with a someone like this? After a relationship? I think that if Luka and I were to end on good terms, in a world where none of this happened, then we might still be friends. But not now. Good terms would be... are there any good terms here?  
  
  
I hate this story. This tale woven in front of me. It's only added another shape to my disfigured life, hasn't it? If I knew in the first place that I didn't appreciate some factors in my life, then why would I ever go and make it worse? That's just the stupidest thing one could do in this situation, this scenario. I wonder if I'm still the third little trouble between Carter and Luka. Crying for one, and crying away from the other. But, I still can't manage to shed a tear in front of either of them.  
  
  
I wish I could head over to Carter's apartment. I need to talk to him before I do this. I'm pleading for a hug from him. I know that sounds completely out of my character, but all I want are his arms right now. They speak to me; they tell me I'm okay, no matter how screwed up I really am.  
  
  
I don't mind them saying I'm screwed up. Is that bad or good? Who cares. I wipe my eyes in frustration, tired from my unnoticed tears.  
  
  
The slice of bread springs from the toaster. I remove it and tuck the toaster back into the cupboard, out of sight. I reach for the butter in the fridge, but decide against it. I'll eat it plain, without any coating. Without any mask. Not a disguising mask. A real mask.  
  
  
I confuse myself with this, shrugging it away, and plop down onto a couch in the living room. With each small bite I take, a bitter feeling runs through my veins. I don't like this. I can't eat. I stand up, careful not to do so too fast. I chuck it into the wastebasket somewhere in the kitchen. I don't care to look. As long as I know I made it safely into the can.  
  
  
"Up early."  
  
  
Well, God, I guess you had to do it sooner or later.  
  
  
I don't look at him. I don't even turn around. I start to take a glass from the cupboard, as if it was what I was there for. I fill it halfway with water straight from the faucet. I wonder how far he is from me right now. Closer to the bedroom, or closer to me?  
  
  
"I have a shift in," I quickly glance to the clock above the sink, sudden disappointment flagged through my cheeks, "three hours." Perfect, Abby. Since when do you get up three hours early?  
  
  
"Three hours?"  
  
  
I nod. "I couldn't sleep." How am I ever going to just tell him this? I can barely talk, and I'm not even *looking* at him! This is impossible, I'm a wreck. He comes over to me. I wait for his arms to encircle my waist, but they don't come. Instead he pushes next to me, his shoulder not even so much as brushing against mine. I question this. Luka usually would put his arms around me in the morning.   
  
  
"Any more bread?"  
  
  
I don't mean to sound conceited, but he hasn't even said anything about my not sleeping. Something's wrong.  
  
  
Damn. He knows.  
  
  
My entire body runs throughout itself, sending me a message I can't read. My hands are cold, but they're tearing into heat. I can't feel my eyes staring ahead. That's what I'm doing. With my back to him again, I'm staring forward into the basin in front of me. My glass is still in my hand.   
  
  
Maybe he doesn't know. Hey, maybe he didn't have the best time in Minnesota or something. Play on it, Abby. Go.  
  
  
"Did you have a good time?"  
  
  
He stops against the counter, I see as I turn around. My stomach ties itself into a knot, then falls away. I'm sick. I'm literally ill. I want the sun to go back down. Please, God, let it go away. Tell the world its time to fall asleep. For a very long time.  
  
  
"Luka?"  
  
  
He braces himself against the counter and whispers, "What?"  
  
  
I *know* he knows now. I'm certain. But I'm doubting myself. I'm being stupid again. He knows. How? I have no idea. It doesn't matter. He knows, and that's all that matters. How did he find out? Why hasn't he hurled me into the hall by now, letting me cry to the pale walls outside? I think that's just in my situation.  
  
  
"I said," I being to repeat, my voice cracking, "did you have a good time?" I won't even try to force a smile.  
  
  
"You did," he shoots back. He glides past me again, careful not to hit me.  
  
  
My eyes close. Everything is silent. I don't know what to do. No one can help me now. This is about me being honest to someone, admitting what I've done wrong. It will never be anyone else's fault but mine. I wish I could understand that and that would be it. No more conversation. Just an image of peace settled between us.   
  
  
I could do with some rain right now.   
  
  
"Luka," I call finally. That's about all I have left, as for strength. My brain is just singing for me to leave him alone. I don't know why. I'm not paying attention to any matters, any opinions of the heart right now. It plays not part in this. It's done enough damage.  
I tear myself from my stationed position at the counter and rush toward the bedroom. The door is shut. I sigh, so frustrated, so tired. I pound one fist on the door, repeating his name again and again. "Open the door," I say through the wood. I don't expect him to do it, until he does.  
  
  
"What?" he shouts in my face, his own towering above me. His dark eyes are angered, pure with rage. I think I may have shrunk away from his form at this. I feel less and less likely to do this as time goes by. I wonder how much we'll last, separated so like this. Before I have to leave.  
  
  
"I'm sorry," I whisper. It's so hushed, I can barely hear myself. My hands are just hanging at my sides.  
  
  
"Are you really?" he asks, breathing heavily with pursed lips.   
  
  
"I don't know why I did it," I lie. I can't tell him that he couldn't 'save' me after all. I'll never tell another soul why I need Carter. Only he'll know. My thoughts are brought back to this instant abruptly.  
  
  
"So," he said, obviously still upset, "you're saying that you want to make you and I work?"  
  
  
Damn it. He's doing this on purpose. He's backing me into that corner of no return. He wants me to admit that I did it because I wanted to. I should tell him. That's not giving anything else away. Just the fact that I did it willingly. I should have shared that with him in the first place. I don't want to lie anymore than I have to. Not to Luka.  
  
  
"No," I speak softly. I can sense the breath cross my lips as I talk now. I'm glaring at my shoes, but my gaze follows to his face slowly.  
  
  
He doesn't look any different. Well, he looks even more upset. I don't blame him, but I want to back away and out of this story forever. Out of this chapter of my life for as long as I live. He's looking into my eyes, watching each blink and probably each thought that I process. This slowly.  
  
  
"I can't," I say, even frailer than the last time words crept from my tongue. "I can't do this anymore."  
  
  
"This?" he asks, waving around into the air. "What is this?"  
  
  
I feel the need to raise my voice, just for emphasis and stress. But, it only lessens in strength. "This: me and you. It's impossible."  
  
  
"Of course it is," he exclaims against morning air, biting into my atmosphere. "When someone does something like this!"  
  
  
I wish he wouldn't shout, but I don't fight it. I don't have a reason to. I have weak, extremely weak alibi at the moment. I have nothing on my side right here, right now. I extend my hands to his, "Luka - "  
  
  
He pulls his palms from mine. I don't want to do things like this, even though I know there's no other way. Have I mentioned that already?  
  
  
"There's no reason for you to stay here, really," he says. He turns back into his room, pulling the sheets back and slipping inside of them. "You can leave."  
  
  
I stare at him with an open mouth. Not as an expression of awe. Just because. I shake my head against the doorway I'm using for support now. "Luka, I'm so sorry - "  
  
  
He mutters his command again: "Get out."  
  
  
There's no reason to go against it. Why would there be? I nod to myself and apologize silently once more. I pick up my sagging body and circle the uninviting rooms, now lifeless and motionless, to the door. I take my last step outward.  
  
  
--  
  
  
Two days. I didn't bother to go to work. I couldn't. Either did Luka. I still don't know how he found out, but I try not to focus on that part of the past anymore. Sure, it's been two days, and I'm still sore, but I know he has it worse. I still think of it as the past and nothing else. I can't be pulled back into the tornado again; it almost killed me last time.  
  
  
I edge closer and closer to the door. I'm stepping with caution, then backing away. I don't know why. Slowly, but surely, a smile creeps across my face as my knuckles meet the door's surface. It opens and I look up.  
  
  
He looks at me and nods gently against the air. It's precious, the air around us. Its still, calm, actually serene for once. He raises his eyebrows, questioning me a bt.  
  
  
I nod.  
  
  
He nods again, more sure, pulling me inside. My eyes feel like they could roll into the back of my head. I guess I'm that happy, that filled with joy. His hands are softly wrapped around mine. I kick the door shut behind me expertly and follow him a foot longer until we stop. We can only stare.  
  
  
He finally kisses me. All I can do is smile against his seriously set lips. I pull his neck closer to mine, determined not to let him part from me. His hands meet my waist, pulling my hips toward his. When we finally separate, my head falls into the nook of his shoulder. I breathe out into the cloth of his shirt. I'm so relieved for once.  
  
  
I'm not so confused.  
  
  
He continuously plants kisses all over my face, my cheeks, my nose. My eyes, my chin, my jaw, my forehead. In my hair. His lips are everywhere, and I don't think I've ever felt any better. If the world stopped spinning now, I highly doubt I would notice.  
  
  
He stops, looks at me again in his arms, and hugs me. He hugs me so tight that I feel like I'm his. Forever, I'm his. His to hold, his to kiss, his to love.  
  
  
Love. There it is again. Two days ago, it was a monster. A beast needing to be tamed, not to tamper with the thoughts in my caged mind.  
  
  
Now it's l*love.* And it's for this man holding me, this man in front of me. All I can do is hook my arms around his neck and say,  
  
  
"I love you."  
  
  
His arms are strong around me. I can't sense anything else in the room. The lights are on, that's all I know.  
  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
  
Yes, it's true. I love him and he loves me.  
  
  
And that's all I care about right now. We cuddle into one form in his bed, sharing it again. It doesn't bring back filth, or torturing memories. It brings back the love we shared, the love we made. Tonight, all we can do is fall asleep as we are. I don't think it'll ever be another way again.  
  
  
My back is to his chest as his arms wrap around my torso. I'm still in regular clothes. I don't care. I need to be by him.  
  
  
I kiss every inch of his arms near my face and doze off against him.  
  
  
It's clear now.  
  
  
  
the end -   
  
  
  
  
--  
  
  
  
  
This chapter took me about three hours to write. One to four in the morning on October 29, 2002. I started at the note at the beginning, and I'll end it with the end of this note. While doing so, I decided that I will write an epilogue. It will, of course, be shorter than this. (I think this is the longest I've ever written lol)   
  
I was nervous about how to end this fic. Everything I typed was conscious and kind of spontaneous in the way that I didn't have anything really planned but what would happen in broad terms. I hope I didn't end it *too* hideously. However, I'll consider the epilogue to be the real end, even though it shouldn't be. It'll be written in the same style as this.  
  
Thank you so much for reading this! Please review it, tell me how I did. I was kind of sad to end this.  
  
Another thing: my site is up now. alloutcarby.cjb.net. Check it out, if you have the time. :)  
  
-manda 


	11. Epilogue

The nurses.  
  
  
Maybe I shouldn't generalize like that, considering I'm a nurse myself. But it was the nurses. They were the ones from whom Luka discovered the little rendezvous Carter and I carried on with during that one week.  
  
  
As happy as I was with Carter, that week was one from Hell, in all seriousness. Looking back, I realized how much I tortured myself, and how much I weaved all these emotional beatings to myself. Beatings. Hat's what they felt like, and I was doing it to myself. In some ways, I don't ever want to think about that week again. Those seen days were some of the worst I've ever experienced. I only pray that I will never have to revisit something as horrible.  
  
  
So why am I still thinking about it? I smile. I smile in the wind brushing my own hair against my face and grip the rail in front of me. I feel like there is actual strength in my hands.   
  
  
Carter and I don't have the best name, generally speaking, at the hospital anymore. Sure, we have our little "fans," the few people that have been brave enough to say that what we did was horrible, but that we were "perfect for each other." I don't know if they're meaning this, they could turn around and start up more gossip about us. However, there are some people who admire what we did, even though they won't say it. They're probably ashamed; thinking now, I wish that our relationship could have possibly begun a different way. At least Carter and I would have better reputations. And there are the people who still just don't know. But by the time the gossip train pulls up to their station, I only wonder how they'll treat us.  
  
  
We still get professional friendships in some cases. All the nurses, except for Lydia and Haleh sometimes, still talk to me. Still laugh with me. Carter hates that I'm losing friends because of this. He told me one night. But he's going through the same thing, and I wish that weren't the story. Lately, he's been reviving his friendship with Weaver professionally. I guess that's a good thing for him. I never liked Weaver much, either, but we're starting to get along. I think she might really get the gist of what we did.   
  
  
Either way, as much as I should, I don't care about what people think. Not as much as I thought I would, either.   
  
  
I just know that I love Carter. Love him to pieces, to death. I'd die for him, no doubt, when I look at him. Whether I'm waking up next to him, or he's in green hospital scrubs with his hair wildly arranged into a mess. I'd run my fingers through that hair and wish I would never have to let go of him near me.   
  
  
I always think about him. When I'm walking to work, riding the L with the scream of the train in my ears, or when I'm falling asleep. Of course, his arms around my body is the most peaceful reminder that he's with me. I don't know if he thinks about me as much as I think about him. It doesn't matter, though. When I'm lying there with him, and he's drifting away and back to sleep again, I think he might be dreaming of me. Or us. I think that he and I are as important to me as it is to him.  
  
  
As much as I don't want to revisit that period of time in which I *hated* myself, I learned something about a month afterward. Luka stopped by when Carter had to work a later shift. He tried to sit me down on the couch, until I finally gave in.  
  
  
So he cheated on me.  
  
  
At first, I wanted to just bark at him for everything there was. I didn't show any sign of it at all, but it was there. I told myself that he was a bastard that he was a horrible person and could never, ever feel any remorse for what he did. But all of these feelings lasted for a second. Luka used to be my lover. Whether our relationship was healthy or breaking down, the fact remained the same. I knew, inside, that Luka would feel guilt. It was possible that he might have went though what I did. And if he didn't, then I won't let myself care. Because I did the same thing.  
  
  
And that was the first step toward a real recovery between me and myself.   
  
  
I guess that I realized something. I realized that what I did was wrong. Of course, I already knew this, but I learned something else that I can't put my finger on. Maybe, that I wasn't alone? That if he was doing the same thing, he was doing what I did. And possibly tearing himself up over it. And if he wasn't, then I felt like I left him for the right reasons, even if having an affair was the wrong thing to do.  
  
  
Luka resigned a week later. I hadn't seen him around the hospital much, but when news came of him resigning, obviously there were a lot of fingers pointing in my direction. Chuny cleared it up for everyone, I believe, behind our backs. Gossip is her tool, I tell you.   
  
  
But I still don't want to think about it.  
  
  
A soft zephyr crosses the river, a whirlwind of dark tresses flowing across my face in a fluent motion. I smile and curl them behind my ears, breathing in that deep, rich, yet dirty smell of Chicago. This city... it showcases, it holds my life.  
  
  
I shake my head and run my hands across the rail again in front of me. The cold is not a big comparison to the raw wind against my face, so I continue. This is peace. Finally. I worry like a normal human. Like a person should. I'm open, I'm different. I'm with someone I love. I'm healthy. I think I'm going to be okay this time.  
  
  
"Abby?"  
  
  
I turn around, fully aware of the smile flashed across my cheeks. I let my head fall to the side a little bit.  
  
  
"Come sit down," he says, his own little whimper against a smirk as he pushes out a hand into mine. I accept it gladly and take a sit as close as I can to him on the bench, snuggling into the comfort of his arm.  
  
  
I don't remember feeling this way. Ever. I guess he's just one in a million.  
  
  
He's that one for me. He is.  
  
  
I wonder why I ever held myself from him. He's holding me tightly to his side, and with all this forty-degree weather nonsense, all I can think about is him and how much I love him.  
  
  
And for once, thinking to myself isn't so bad.  
  
  
--  
  
  
I hope that was a good enough "wrap-up" deal there. :) Let me know what you thought.   
  
-mandy 


End file.
